


Once upon a time

by Glendaa



Category: Actor RPF, Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Alternate Universe-fairytale, Angst (sorry), Armie-Beast, Beauty and the Beast, I don't know what I'm doing, M/M, Prompt came to me during a dream in France, SO MUCH ANGST!, These two keep pestering me to write, Timothée-Beauty, hideous villains, hot sex (eventually), romantic fluff (I hope), the burn is sooo slow! (sorry again)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2019-07-25 13:31:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 64,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16198502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glendaa/pseuds/Glendaa
Summary: Once upon a time, in France, there lived the handsome, arrogant marquis Armand de L. Cursed by a witch, he was changed into a Beast, to be lonely and miserable until someone could love him despite the ugly creature he was.





	1. Incubus

**Author's Note:**

> 1 This is my first attempt ever at fanfiction. Please be kind, but feel free to offer constructive criticism. I need it for my writing to grow. Thanks! BTW English is not my first language and I have no beta. I hope my writing is not as silly as it seems to me.  
> 2 My sincerest apologies to Jeanne-Marie Leprince de Beaumont and her 'Contes moraux pour l’instruction de la jeunesse'. There is nothing “edifying” in this. Surely there will be darkness, hopefully there will be smut - but I don’t know. Let’s see where my characters lead me.  
> 3 As always, I don’t own these characters, respect everyone in RL etc etc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet our hero Timothée.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incubus means 'nightmare' in Latin.

_Run, Timothée, run!_

The voice inside his head was frantic, pushing him to lenghten his stride, jump over the tree stumps that wanted to slow down his escape, dodging the branches threatening to hit his forehead.

_He’s coming after you._

Brown curls sticking to his cheeks, heart almost jumping out of his chest, the boy was fighting for dear life. And losing.

The woods were closing on him, almost like they plotted his demise. If he only could get to the lake, surely the monster couldn’t swim, could it?

But the roar – oh, that ghastly roar, not human, not animal, not anything a creature conceived by God could make – was nearing.

Leaves crunching under his naked feet, the boy yelped as something whooshed near him.

_Why? Why me?_

Help. Please help. Can somebody help me?

A big hand - no, not a hand - long deadly claws gripping his shoulder…

_Mine! You. Are. Mine!_

Strong jaws ripping his throat, blood gurgling out of the wound, his shriek fading in the distance…

 

__________

 

With a strangled cry, Timothée woke up, chemise drenched in sweat, sheets tangled in his legs.

The same dream. Again.

Getting up for a drink of water from the pitcher, parched throat burning as if in the aftermath of a wild run, the boy looked outside to the bustling street below his window.

 _It’s late. Father will be displeased. Will take his belt off._ _Again._

It was not his fault if he couldn’t sleep properly. The dreams had started a month ago, each scarier than the other. His only resort had been to try and refuse rest; the only consequence a delayed nightmare and a late start in the morning, which angered his father more than he already was.

With a sigh Timothée started getting dressed, no reason to defer the inevitable. This night the monster had finally got him and, as he feared, killed him.

Still shivering at the thought, he resolved to visit Abbé Jacques on the first occasion. Confession would do him good and possibly the sweet monk could suggest some kind of prayer - a novena to the Virgin Mary, perhaps – that could help. He had been so ashamed of his nightmares that he hadn’t recounted them to the man of God and now he felt silly. A sin of pride was costing him the chance to stop the horror that was robbing him of his sleep.

Or, maybe, he should brave the woods, those woods that haunted him in his sleep, and ask for the witch’s help. She was probably more acquainted with monsters than the dear Abbé in any case. But the idea of confronting her was almost as scary as the nightmare itself. He heard the tales of those who had asked for help and failed to pay the agreed price.

A farmer, whose crops were thinning year after year, had gone to her wooden hut near the river. She prepared him a concoction to spread on the fields and they magically begin to flourish again. When asked for a fat pig as payment, the farmer had laughed in her face and shoved her away. A week later, he was found dead drowned in the well. He could have drunkenly fallen in it on a dark night, but… a fat pig was delivered to the hut by his older son, hoping for the best.

_No, not the witch, not for now at least. I wouldn’t even know what to pay her with._

Timothée descended the stairs glumly. The piercingly blue eyes of the monster, almost black with rage, still haunting his steps.


	2. Imago animi vultus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troubled nights are not for Timothée alone...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is a quote by Cicero and means “The countenance is the portrait of the soul”. I found it fitting for our monster here.
> 
> The Dogue de Bordeaux (also known as French Mastiff) is one of the most ancient French dog breeds. Originally bred to hunt large animals and to be used as fighting dogs, Dogues are athletic, intelligent and devoted. What better companion for Beast?
> 
> PS Don’t worry, on chapter 3 our boys will meet ;-) What will happen?

The Beast was pacing.

Once, he would have scolded roughly his servants for the state of neglect his beautiful gardens were in. Not that he would have actually needed to – they were too scared of the dungeons to even think of upsetting their Master by displaying such carelessness.

Now, he mused, the overgrown bushes only served as a reminder – _like I fucking need any_ – of the condition he was in. He had tried to rip the weeds himself, to clear paths and prune trees. If only to have something to do with his… hands. If only to kill time.

In vain.

Any kind of wild grass or plant - _damn stinging nettle_ \- as well as the fruit trees, the roses, even the tulips beloved by Alwen would re-grow overnight in such an untamed, innatural way that they became ghastly. Any appearance of harmony and beauty erased forever. Everything irrevocably turned feral.

Oh, the irony was not lost on him! Not at all.

“That stupid witch must be very proud of herself”, he growled to himself.

He had recently started talking loudly, mostly just to remember how to do it, for he had no companion aside loyal Spartacus. The dogue de Bordeaux was the only living being on his property that had not succumbed to the enchantment that had ruined his life. He was the only tie to his old self, to hunting parties and village brawls, to drunken sex and lit ballrooms. Why that worthless cunt had decided to just let him be, the Beast couldn’t fathom but wasn’t willing to ask, for fear that the dog would be taken from him like everything else had.

At first loneliness hadn’t seemed a very harsh punishment - for a man such himself everyone was beneath him anyway and not worthy of much consideration aside from what volatile pleasure could be gained from them. At least it didn’t seem as harsh a chastening as the way in which he was turned from Marquis to Beast, from man to monster.

But lately - how much time had passed? was it weeks, months, years? the Beast couldn’t tell - having no human presence in his life had become quite a heavy burden. Yes, every basic need was catered by magic - warm food on the table, clean clothes in the armoire, a roaring fire in winter and fresh books on the library shelves - and yet...

He had started to miss Jeanne - her perfectly baked custard tarts, if he was being honest - or the petulant way in which Clementine tried to catch his eyes when doing laundry, forever pushing her bosom in his direction - still not persuaded that the Marquis could resist her charms, even when he was very clear that his inclinations led him towards peachy butts and not ample breasts. He would have chatted gladly with his gamekeeper Sébastien, who had been constantly pestering him with news of poachers, hedgerows and whatnots. It seemed ages ago that he was bored by these interactions… but now…

“Yes, she must be very pleased with herself”, he grunted.

**_“My, my, Beast, you sound terribly grumpy today. Is it the weather?”_ **

A silvery voice echoed in his head.

“It’s the horrible state of my gardens, thank you very much, witch!”, he spewed, hoping she hadn’t read the loneliness in his heart. With her you couldn’t really be sure.

 ** _“Which is what you deserve, my dear Beast! But really? Couldn’t it be the lack of sleep you are suffering of lately?”_** Her voice was as usual dripping like venomous honey, sweet on the outside and oh so cutting below surface.

_Of course she knows of my dreams… I cannot have shelter from her, not even inside my head. Not even at night._

“What do you know of my sleep, witch? Why do you care?”

**_“I care that you are wasting time, idly worrying about your gardens when you should try to find love. Don’t you remember what I told you? How only love can save you, Beast?”_ **

“You really think that I would lose time trying to find someone who would love me for the monster that I am? Like that could ever be a possibility!” The Beast was angry now. “I won’t give you the satisfaction of seeing me chasing the impossible just to torture me further. Sod off, witch, and leave me alone”.

 ** _“Such a rude behaviour! I thought you were in want of some companionship. I must have been mistaken”_** , she scoffed. **_“I will give you my advice nonetheless - if you want to know why you cannot sleep at night, be on the prowl tonight. The woods will have the answer you search for”._**

Finally free from the witch’s voice in his head, the Beast was fuming. How dare she treat him like this? He was a Marquis, for God’s sake!

 _You are just a lowly beast now, are you not? Look at you. She has the power to make you even more miserable. Don’t provoke her!_ His sensible brain was just what he needed not.

Stomping the grounds, Spartacus at his heels, the Beast wondered if the witch’s advice was a ruse. Why would she tell him to go hunt? He did it frequently on his own just to pass time and vent his aggression – not really fair to the usual game, but sometimes a bear would put up a fight and he could have some fun. In any case a night in the woods was not something he was afraid of. _Unless there are hunters with rifles out there._ But why would she have him killed, when it was so clear that she enjoyed torturing him so much? It didn’t make sense.

With a sigh, the Beast admitted to himself that all day his thoughts had been about the gardens, the witch, Spartacus, even bloody Clementine and now the woods and the hunt… to conveniently avoid where they really wanted to go… to that pair of light green eyes that haunted his dreams. In his tormented sleep he couldn’t see much else - a jade gaze that caused a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach. A kind of giddy excitement but mostly a longing for something he couldn’t quite name or describe. Sometimes in the dreams those green eyes were beautiful but sad, full of unshed tears; at other times they were looking at him full of wonder, stripping him naked of all pretense. They were dazzling.

Still sighing, the Beast took the path towards his castle – there was no way he would avoid the woods tonight. He needed to know. Circumnavigating the statues that dotted the landscape, he kept clear of looking at their faces. The muted reproaches on their wide open mouths were too much to bear.


	3. Proditor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timothée is bound to experience the deepest of betrayals and finds himself in great danger. Luckily someone is watching over him, but is it friend or foe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that I said that in chapter 3 our boys would meet, but I decided to split it in two parts. So… I’m posting both chapters at the same time. 
> 
> The burn is slow - hope you like the story so far!
> 
> PS Proditor means 'traitor' in Latin.
> 
> BTW Thank y’all so much for kudos and comments. They give me life!

 

The day had been going way better than Timothée expected. When he descended the stairs earlier in the morning, worried about his father’s reaction to another late start, he had found him distracted, busy puttering around the bakery, a slight sweat clinging to his upper lip.

“Quick, go to the mill and come back only after the rye is ground. If you wait there, they will serve you quicker. But don’t forget to collect the wood I stuck at the edge of Charles’ property. And load the cart fully for once, if that old donkey is not useful anymore I will just sell it to the butcher”.

“Sure, Father.”

“And eat something before you go”, he uttered, pushing towards him a slice of bread. “We wouldn’t want you to faint and hit your head or something, wouldn’t we?”

“Yes, Father. Thank you, Father”. Timothée grabbed the bread - lightly coated with olive oil and a sprinkle of salt, his favourite - and flew out of the door, not wanting to wait for his luck to turn bad.

And now he was eating a juicy pear, the first of the season, kindly offered by the miller’s wife while the grain was readied. Their flour, together with water, yeast and salt resulted in a bread so soft on the inside and crunchy outside that just thinking about it made his mouth water. One of the perks of being the boulanger’s son was a steady supply of it, even if lately they only consumed the overcooked loaves. Money was scarcer since the pâtissier had decided to sell bread as well and business had slowed a little. He had tried to advise his father to step up the game at least with fougasse - aside from the simple boule they offered - but his response had been a hard slap on his face and a command to not disrespect his elder.

The wood for the brick oven was on the cart and Timothée was eager to get back home, errands almost completed. Maybe his father would let him visit Abbé Jacques, who was waiting to show him the new pigments that had arrived at the Priory. Since restoration of the frescoes had begun, he had enlisted the boy for help, knowing all too well of his passion - and talent - for art. And of his fascination with the Virgin’s portrait. A little more than 20 years ago - when the painter commissioned to decorate the priory had been searching the village for models - he had settled on Timothée’s mother as Mary. She was a beautiful girl at the time, with flowy light brown hair and green eyes. She had married soon after and died a few years later when Timothée was only five. His early memories, blurry as all children’s, were fading and being able to see her sweet smile, even just in paint, was a great confort. Especially when his father had been drinking and hitting him for no apparent reason other than vent anger at life itself.

After he had unloaded flour and wood, and put Éloise back in the stable - _don’t worry girl, Father won’t sell you for meat, you would be too hard and stringy in any case_ \- Timothée pushed open the door and was greeted by three set of eyes, firmly focused on him.

“Timothée, there you are. Come, come. These gentlemen are waiting for you.”

“For me, Father?”

“Yes, come inside and wash your hands”. Father was sweating, brows furrowed.

“So this is your son, uh?” The taller of the two was looking at him with intent. “He has your hair and built, but luckily he took the rest from his mother, I suppose”, he cackled.

“How old you said he is?”, retorted the other man.

“Seventeen”, answered his father, with a strained expression on his face.

The two men looked at each other with a frown. “He’s old”. “But he looks younger… and he’s pretty”.

Dread crawled up Timothée’s spine at the interaction.

His father cleared his throat. “You see, son…”

“We are here to bring you to the Duc’s palace. They have been expecting you, boy”.

“What… What are you talking about?” His mouth was dry all of a sudden.

“We’ve been told by Abbé Jacques that you have a talent for painting, portraiture to be precise”.

“You know him?”

“Not directly, but he knows that we work for the Duc, providing entertainement for his court”.

The smaller man’s smirk was put to an end by the stern gaze of the other man.

“We are always on the lookout for talent in the area. Singers and actors are cheap and commonplace, but painters… They usually leave for greener pastures and need time to be summoned”. The taller man was inspecting his nails nonchalantly. “The Duc’s having guests starting from tomorrow. They gave no adequate notice and he fears they will be bored with no distractions. We were talking with your father about business…” his eyes were cold when looking at the baker. “…and we remembered of what the priest said. Of course you would be paid for your work”.

Something was not quite right, but Timothée could not pinpoint exactly what. _I need a way out. Now._

“I’m afraid I have to refuse. I’m no professional. I’ve had no training and I wouldn’t want to disappoint the Duc and his guests”.

“He and his guests favor inexperience”, the smaller of the two said.

“What?”

“My friend here” sighed the other “means that they love to discover budding talent and make it shine. If you are as talented as people say and if you behave smartly enough, you could even get offered real training, in the Academia. Wouldn’t it be nice?”

“Father?”

“Yes, son.”

“What do you think?” _Please, help me here_ , he thought.

“He’s fine with that, obviously. Wouldn’t want to stand in the way of your future. Am I right, Chalamet?”

“Why… yes… yes… of course”.

Something was definitely off. His father was not the kind of man to be silenced by another. Because of that, he was constantly getting into brawls. And yet, there he was - eyes downcast and a bitter smile on his lips.

“Or we could just tell the dear Abbé Jacques that all his efforts were wasted upon you and you are no real artist after all. I guess he would be disappointed that you refused such a good opportunity of showing the good training his school provides the youth of this community.” He turned to the door. “The choice is yours, obviously. But… What a pity. The Duc - if satisfied - might have made a donation for the restoration of the Priory…”

_There is no escaping this._

“I’ll go” said Timothée. “It’s the least I can do for him”.

“Good boy. Now why don’t we grab a bite before we leave?”


	4. Monstra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timothée is unconscious and in great danger. What will happen to him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING  
> There is mention of non-con/rape and death in this chapter (just suggested, non actually happening but I wanted to say it).
> 
> PS Monstra means 'monsters' in Latin.

 

“Now, what was in that stew? He’s out cold”.

“I hope for not too long. He will want him fully awake. You know he doesn’t like his boys unconscious. Where’s the fun in that?”

“Yes, the old nut wants them to know exactly what’s happening, to hear them scream…”

“I hope the pharmacist didn’t mess up this time. Wouldn’t want to hear complaints for having killed another pretty face before any fun could be had.”

The open carriage swerved abruptly.

“What is it with these fucking horses tonight? They’ve been skittish since entering the woods. Stupid beasts”.

“Whip them harder”.

High-pitched neighs filled the night. The horses, foaming mouths and thick hooves, started trotting faster, bumping the wheels harshly on the hard road.

“Fucking Hell. If the boy arrives bruised the Duc will scold us”.

“Yes. He’s the only one who can bruise the boy”.

“He look real pretty though. Why don’t we get a taste before handing him over? Nobody will know”.

“Are you crazy? You defile him and we are dead”.

“I’m not thinking of that. But look at his pretty mouth, lips parted and tongue lolling out…”

“He’s trying to breathe, you dumb shit. I truly hope that idiot didn’t screw up this time. He said it’s a new concoction - some opium, belladonna, mercury… and spices to cover the bitterness. Fuck, look at his eyes. Don’t die on us, boy. You have to last at least until ‘morrow morning…”

“You worry too much”.

“And you not enough. Stop thinking about choking him with your cock! Are you out of your mind?”

“I’ll be careful. Come on, Lucien. We are constantly at the beck and call of that asshole. Don’t you want to have a bit of fun for a change?”

“Mmm. You know I like girls. The younger the better”.

“A hole is a hole. And I’m too horny to wait being home to scratch an itch. He’s an innocent, I know you can tell. Come on, it will be fun. No one will ever know”.

Horses in a frenzy.

Red moon.

A snarl.

“I will”.

 

__________________

 

The boy was thrashing in the bed.

_Timothée. His name is Timothée._

Dilated pupils, palms clenching and unclenching, stomach retching and finally hurling its contents on the floor.

“Breathe, boy.”

Grey-greenish foam at his mouth, pasty skin, cold and clammy hands… he was still beautiful. And fighting for his life.

“The worse is over, boy.”

The Beast was feeding him herbs after herbs, all foul smelling and probably disgustingly bitter by the way Timothée _he’s got a graceful name_ was trying to refuse them. He hoped the instructions he received were enough to save the boy.

_The witch wouldn’t have me find him just in time to let him die in my bed, right? That would be too vile even for her._

“Breathe.”

“Don’t give up.”

“I got you.”

_Mine. Mine. Mine._


	5. Quies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timothée is resting, not aware of where he is or who has rescued him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quies means 'rest, sleep' in Latin.

 

Head flopping on the pillow like a fish out of water, Timothée was trying to get up.

_Uuurgh. Nausea. Going to faint. Better I just lie down._

He tried again, trembling for the effort. But after a while he just gave up.

 _Breathe._ He remembered a voice telling him to breathe. _Maybe this is what I need to do._ Tiny breaths - when he tried to take a deep one, his chest heaved.

_Merde. Ok, lie down. Try again later._

“Hush boy, don’t exert yourself”, the voice said. “Just rest”.

He fell asleep again.

 

______________________

 

Wincing thanks to a terrible headache, Timothée was trying his best to get up. Again with no success.

A groan. And a grunt.

He stopped. _What was that?_

Pounding head, mouth dry, he lied down again. He tried to look around, to see where he was but discovered he couldn’t. Something was pressing on his eyes.

_Blindfolded. They have me blindfolded. I have to free myself... I have to..._

Another groan and a hard body was pushing into his side. 

_No no no no this can’t be happening._

The weight was getting heavier on his hip.

 _God no_ , he tried to slither away from the body, but found he was now pinned down.

A sniff. Something wet touching his neck.

_What?_

A bark. _Oh God_ , he covered his ears with his hands. Head throbbing furiously.

A tongue licking him, slobbering all over his face.

_A dog? Is this really a dog?_

“Down dog, good dog, stop stop”, he croaked.

A deep hearty laugh followed. “Spartacus stop it. Let the boy be”.

That voice. He remembered vaguely a voice. Deep and soothing, calming him, telling him that things were getting better

_Rest, boy. Breathe. Drink slowly._

A wet cloth started cleaning his face, the dog whimpering at his side.

“How do you feel today?”, a weight sat on his bed.

Timothée shuddered and tried to get away from the cloth - _and the hand that was holding it and the man attached to that hand -_ but with the dog firmly at his side he had no leeway.

“Calm down boy. I won’t hurt you. I’m just cleaning you of my dog’s drool”.

“Why… my eyes…?”, he groaned.

“You’ve got a poultice on your forehead and eyes, another on your throat and the last one on your stomach. They are helping you to get better”. 

Timothée’s hand went to his forehead and touched something warm and moist there. He then sniffed the fingers – _lavender and… peppermint_. He relaxed a bit, he knew they helped with headaches.

His hand slid to his throat and repeated the process, this time trying to decipher the neutral smell.

“Potatoes”, the voice explained. “Apparently they are soothing for sore throats”. 

Seemingly content with the answer, the hand went lower, to his stomach. This time he recognized the smell of sweet chamomile.

“That’s for upset stomachs”.

He nodded weakly.

_What is happening? Where am I? Who is this man?_

He knew he should have been wary. He knew he should have been running for the hills. But he had no strength left. He fell asleep again.

 

______________________

 

Looking at Timothée’s sleeping form, the Beast sighed.

Thanks to the herbal poultice the boy hadn’t seen him yet. He dreaded the moment when it would happen.

He had been scared of course, not knowing where he was and with whom - _I don’t think his memories of what happened are clear enough_ \- but that would be nothing compared to the fear he would feel. Timothée would recoil from him and try to run away. Maybe even jump from the balcony.

And then he would be obliged to hunt him down and bring him back screaming to his lair. There was no way he would ever let him go.

With a sigh the Beast left the room.

_Rest, boy. Your world is about to change forever._


	6. Viridis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a few days of fighting for dear life, Timothée is getting better. Time to meet the Beast who saved him from the worst of destinies. How will the meeting go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viridis means 'green' in Latin - as per Timothée's eyes, finally open. I don't really know why my chapters' titles want to be in Latin, but here they go.
> 
> Thanks again for your kudos and comments!!! They mean the world to me.

 

Running had been great.

After a few days cooped in the house, the Beast and his dog had needed fresh air and some strong physical exercise almost like breathing. Not that the Beast would have left Timothée alone, unless he knew that the boy was alright. But finally he had felt him to be quite fine, if a little weak, and after feeding Timothée breakfast, the pup and its grumpy Master had left the castle for a quick hunt and swim in the river. The blessed eye poultice - when he tried to remove the blindfold, the boy’s eyes had hurt so much they had decided to keep it on - had won him time. The Beast hoped to get to know Timothée a little better and maybe gain a bit of trust from the boy before he had the chance of seeing him. Thus lessening the blow of discovering what he really was.

But in order to be calm and collected in his presence - possibly not prompting Timothée to throw the fireplace’s cast-iron poker at his head   _urgh that would be so not nice_ \- he had to run and hunt and swim and roar. He knew clearly that otherwise his beastly instincts might get in the way and he really didn’t want to scare the boy more than necessary.

Being a Beast had never been so challenging before. Nothing had been in the way of his simple needs. Well, aside from fucking obviously. That had been of the question. And to think that in the past he had been so proud of his record... Yeah. This Beast was not getting any sweet ass anytime soon. Or never.

Better to focus on getting rid of deadly bears attacking villagers and just not think too much about it, otherwise that pesky witch would surely haunt his brain again suggesting him to focus on love instead. Sure, like love was even a remote possibility. _Stupid cunt, ruining my day even when she’s away._

“Wonder what she’s up to”, he grimaced. She had been unusually silent while he was taking care of Timothée, just providing him with every medicine needed - and instructions to cure the poisoning. He shuddered. He wouldn’t have been able to save the boy without her help. But obviously he was an innocent, she couldn’t have let him die, could she? Well, he’d have to meet her again sooner than later - better enjoy the respite for now.

Feeling refreshed and serene (sort of), the Beast went back to the house, Spartacus at his heels. But as soon as he opened the door he felt something was off. Spartacus was sprinting at the stairs and quickly clawing at the bedroom’s door. The Beast jumped and opened the door, hand gripping the handle when he saw the empty bed. His gaze followed Spartacus trotting to the open balcony and froze.

Timothée was there, wide awake, no blindfold in sight.

And he was staring at him.

_____________________________________________

“Shit”. 

 _Please don’t, please don’t_ he pleaded with his eyes, hoping the boy would stay calm. He didn’t dare to move, afraid any gesture would push the boy to jump. Or scream and faint and fall to the ground. Either way what a shitty way to die, especially after all his efforts to save and heal him.

Timothée hadn’t moved. Apparently in shock, eyes like pools of stunned green, widening now that Spartacus was approaching him.

“Spartacus sit”, the Beast said.

The dog sat, open mouthed, tongue lolling out, tail thump thump thumping on the floor. He started whining when he understood that he was meant to really stay put where he was. 

“Spartacus lie down”. 

The order was clear and his dog was a trained son-of-a-bitch and yet he was defying his command - his body slowly inching towards the boy, sliding on the floor, technically not walking. It would have been a funny show, his dog disobeying him for the first time and in such a silly way, but Timothée was wary of this giant of a dog slithering towards him. He bit his lower lip and clutched at the balcony railings.

“Stay calm. He’s just curious. He won’t bite you”. 

“And you?”

“Me?”

“Will you bite me?”

Seriously? Was the boy asking him that?

“Timothée please. Get inside so we can talk. There is nothing to fear”, the Beast pleaded.

Green eyes rolled, rosy lips pursed and his right eyebrow went up in an arch so sarcastic that could cut paper.

“Yes. Sure. Do you really think that line works?” 

_Uh?_

“We may very well talk with me here”, the boy continued.

 _Seriously?_ It was the Beast’s turn to be stunned. 

“I feel quite comfortable here”.

“But there’s no need. Come sit by the fireplace and have a cup of hot chocolate”, he suggested.

“There isn’t any. I finished it at breakfast already. Remember?”, Timothée quipped.

“There’s a cup waiting for you on the sideboard”.

“No, there isn’t.”

“If I go and fetch it for you, will you believe me?”

No response.

The Beast was wondering what the hell was going on. _This is not how I envisioned my first chat with the boy to be. At all. At least, he doesn’t seem keen on hurling himself out of the balcony…_

He started walking slowly towards him, hands open in a way he hoped conveyed ‘look, no weapons no menace’ - _sure,_ _like my claws aren’t enough to make a grown man cry_ \- while being eyed suspiciously by the boy. He took the cup and turned to show it to Timothée just when a soft gasp escaped his lips. Spartacus was licking the boy’s fingers. The dog had wasted no time and, seeing the humans distracted, had started operation ‘welcome the new pack member’.

“He just wants you to rub him behind the ears. He won’t hurt you”, the Beast promised.

Timothée had always liked dogs, any animal actually, and shyly started to pet the dog, who was head butting his hip trying to catch his attention. A laugh escaped his throat and the Beast thought it the nicest sound he ever heard.

He put the cup on the tiny table near the fireplace and sat on one of the armchairs. He watched Timothée interact with Spartacus, liking the way he was slowly relaxing to the dog.

“Good boy, uh… such a good boy. You look like this big scary thing and yet you are just a big teddy bear right?”, he crooned.

The Beast watched mesmerized as his killer dog melted to the boy’s touch. His words did things to his stomach - and groin if he was being honest. They almost felt like they were meant for him. The Beast felt himself smile. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

The boy was watching him again, taking in his appearance. He slowly came near and sat on the other armchair, eyeing suspiciously the hot chocolate on the table.

“What is this? How is this even possible?”

“By the smell I’d say it is hot chocolate - with whipped cream and a dash of cinnamon”, he answered. “Magic makes it possible”. 

At the quizzical look of the boy, he added “You will learn that magic rules this place”.

“Where am I? And who are you?”, the boy looked dazed but eeringly calm.

“You are in my home”. “I am the Beast”.

“You never answered me”.

“About what?”

“Are you going to eat me?” His eyes went to the floor. “Is this why you are taking care of me? To fatten me up?”

The Beast’s laugh boomed in the room, so powerful that Spartacus joined in with an howl of his own.

 _Oh my, this boy is going to be the death of me_ , he thought, licking his lips.

With eyes that glimmered with fun but became darker as he approached the boy - that was now gripping the chair’s armrests - he brought his mouth to his ear.

“Oh yes, I would like eating you, Timothée. Very much. But we are not there yet” he purred, warm breath tickling his neck, before leaving his room.

But not without having noticed the blush that had graced the boy’s cheeks.


	7. Tragoedia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timothée discovers how he came to be at the Beast's palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is not a happy chapter!  
> The Beast is a Beast after all...

 

Timothée blinked one time. Then another. And another. His brain was trying to process what was happening, but failing altogether. Good thing he was now slumped in an armchair, otherwise he would have broken his skull crashing on the floor. He was sure of that.

As soon as the Beast had left, followed by the dog, he had drank his chocolate _no need to waste a rare treat like this_ pondering his situation. Apparently he was in a house, _no not a house, a chateau_ with magically appearing beverages, a big dog and a… Beast.

He felt weak, a slightly metallic taste still in his mouth – he was glad that delicious chocolate helped with both issues. His memory was fuzzy and something told him he didn’t really want to remember what had happened. He knew he had been sick, possibly for a few days. He recalled shivering from the cold and alternately sweating from intense heat. Like a bad flu, he thought. He had vomited many times, one time on someone _oh God, was it on ‘him’?_

He remembered strong arms picking him up and bathing him - cleaning him of his mess, giving him herbal tea and soup, applying balsamic oil to his throat and shoulders. Some part of him hoped it was not the Beast who had taken care of him, but he sensed that there were no other people in the castle. _It must have been him._ He sighed. _What is this creature? Is he a devil from Hell? What does he want from me?_

He blushed remembering his words. He was young and inexperienced but he knew they were meant in a sexual way. He certainly hadn’t looked at him like he was edible in the culinary sense. He should have felt some sort of relief at that, as he surely wasn’t keen on being chewed alive, but… the image was disquieting.

_He was just teasing you. He probably was offended that you thought him a cannibal._

But was he not? He certainly was no man, even if he dressed and talked as one.

 _Focus,_ _Timothée! Think. What do you know of this Beast?_ For a start, he’s tall. Taller than any man in the village. Big feet in leather boots, strong long legs clad in blue trousers, a damask vest embroidered with cream roses and an ivory linen chemise, topped by a dark brown jacket with velvet lapels and gold buttons.

_Yeah, sure, focus on the beautiful clothing. Such a way to forget what he looks like!_

“Merde”, he whispered.

A full mane of golden hair on his head, his skin a light coloured pelt… _like a lion_ , he thought. _Wait… was that a tail behind his… Oh God!_ Add to that pointy nails, claws actually, and sharp canines - the Beast was a true monster. He looked like he could be on the Priory frescoed walls, together with the other evil creatures depicted in Hell. A warning - to all who considered sinning - about what was waiting for them in the afterlife if they didn’t behave.

And yet… _he has taken care of you, hasn’t he?_ Timothée was puzzled.

 _And what is it with the magic?_ The boy knew that sorcery was real. He had been warned to avoid the witch at all costs (and yet he knew that many went to ask her help - women trying to regain a lost lover, men who wanted to feel vigorous in old age… Basically most of the village was visiting her without wanting anyone - especially the priest - to know). But this? This was unprecedented. It was like the house itself was magical, providing what was needed without requiring servants. It creeped Timothée out.

_I have to leave. I don’t care whatever ailment I suffered… I have to leave._

“Hope the Beast will let me go easily”, he groaned, not really believing his words.

With a sigh, he rose and opened the door. He would know soon enough.

 

______________________________

 

Crossing the hallway, descending the stairs, opening the front door - Timothée didn’t look much around. He was scared of seeing something spellbinding and terrible, that could tie him to this place forever.

He shivered.

The afternoon was turning cold, autumn fast approaching. He walked through the gardens, noticing - he could not avoid it - the statues that dotted the grounds. His artistic eye was drawn to them, he had never seen something similar. Small children chasing a cat, women talking while hanging laundry to dry, a man with a hunting rifle and a couple pheasants on his shoulder... In all his life the only statues he had admired had been those of the venerable Saints - or the golden one of that Prince that ages ago had conquered the town of D. for the glory of France.

“Why would someone portray such humble people in precious marble?”, he asked loudly to nobody in particular. “This is so unusual. They are truly perfect resemblances of villagers doing their work…”

He was nearing the statue of a young woman with ample breasts when he heard movement behind him.

“There you are. I’m glad you are feeling good enough to take a walk”, the Beast said.

“I was looking for you”, he answered.

“Me?” The Beast looked surprised.

“Yes. I… uhm… wanted to thank you for taking care of me. I’m not really sure what happened but… I felt like on the brink of death and yet… here I am”.

“There’s no need to thank me, Timothée. Actually, now that you feel better, I think we should talk about all of this…”

“Of course, of course”, he looked lightly embarassed. “Ehm… I guess you incurred in many expenses healing me. I will reimburse you of any cost”. His hand went to his neck. “We are not rich… I mean, we are bakers but… I’m sure my father will find a way”. His expression was strained, but his eyes clear and determined when he finally looked up at the Beast. “And if he won’t, I’ll pay you back myself. I’m a hard worker, you know”.

 _Merde. I dreaded this._ The Beast gritted his teeth. _And here it goes my wanting to take it easy with the boy…_

“Timothée…”

“I’m serious. I’m not like fully recovered but… I can help around-"

“There’s no need for your help. Magic, remember?”

“Well, I don’t mean to be rude, but… the gardens are quite neglected if I may say so… Wait, I mean they are beautiful but too overgrown and…”

“Stop. Just stop, je t'en prie”.

“I mean it! Please let me help. Let me find a way to repay you of…”

“Stop. It. Now!”, he roared.

_There’s no way of making this pleasant for the boy. Better if I just say it like it is._

“You are not to repay anything. Because you are not leaving this place. Ever. This is your home now”.

“What… What are you talking about?”, dread was spreading through Timothée.

“You heard me. You live here now”, he quipped. “You are mine”.

“No, no, no. You must have mistaken me for someone else. I have a home, a father--”

“And what a nice father you have, Timothée!” He was getting tired now by the boy’s objections. Surely he wouldn’t prefer that drunkyard’s hovel of a house to this palace?

Timothée paled. “Do you know him?”

“Enough to know that you are better here. With me. The sooner you accept it, the better it will be. So stop this nonsense and come back. It’s getting dark and you are not recovered yet!”

The Beast started walking towards the palace when he felt himself being grabbed from behind, arm yanked up in the air.

“Fuck you!” Timothée spat. “I’m not done talking yet!”

The Beast was stunned. How dare he talk to him like that! But that was his old self, the arrogant Marquis, reacting. The lion in him purred. _He’s angry!_ _Anger is good. The boy is strong. I like it._

Timothée was breathing heavily, reddened cheeks and furrowed brows. “I do not intend to stay here. Do you understand me? I don’t know what makes you think I’m yours, but I’m not cattle--”

“And yet you were sold and I have bought you!”, he retorted. He knew vaguely that he was supposed to be gentle with the boy, that he was scared and confused and this aggressive way of stating things would not further his cause, that having taken care of him could go only that far in making him look less of a feral animal… But now the Beast was angry as well. He had no patience left – maybe being cooped for days at home worrying about Timothée had been to much for a selfish creature like him. Maybe having killed two men was taking its toll after all… _fuck, no, they fully deserved it_. In short, he wished he could be better, but he was a Beast after all!

“Your father sold you to the Duc of L. for his twisted pleasure. You may remember the men he sent to collect you”.

The boy started trembling, flashes of memory brought back by the harsh words. Two men - one tall, a smooth talker, the other shortish, with a big stomach. Both leering at him in a way that made his skin crawl.

“What are you talking about? Why would he--”

“He lost everything gambling. The boulangerie, the small flat above it, even the shirt on his back.”

Timothée swallowed. Were things so bad? He obviously knew his father gambled – he always came back home drunk from the tavern, more brutal when he lost – but surely he wouldn’t have gambled his home, his son away, right?

“Liar! You are a liar!”, he shouted, tears pooling in his eyes.

The Beast knew then that the boy was defeated. He could have tried to confort him, but he was a Beast after all.

“No, I’m not, and you know it”, he said drily. “You are alive, though. You should be grateful for that. The Duc and his guests wouldn’t have let you live - that is if you were still with life after they had finished ‘playing’ with you”.

At those words, the boy crumpled on the ground, sobbing. Spartacus came running and started whining at his obvious distress.

The Beast could have let the dog try and confort Timothée. But this exchange had drained him. He commanded Spartacus to follow him back inside, leaving the boy howling his pain through the fallen leaves.

He was a Beast after all.


	8. Narratio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Beast has some explaining to do if he wants a chance with Timothée any time in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have been wondering how does the Beast’s chateau look like (aside from the big river behind it), please look at this. It’s Azay-le-Rideau in the Loire valley. What a place, uh? https://img.ev.mu/images/attractions/5044/960x640/10716.jpg
> 
> BTW I wish the burn wasn't so slow, but these two are so stubborn! Maybe I should have called this 'Pride and Prejudice'? Hope they start to behave soon, because I need some smut, the sadness is too much.
> 
> Tell me what you think about this in the comments. Thanks!
> 
> PS Narratio means 'tale' in Latin.

 

_An idiot._

_I am a fucking idiot._

_No, an asshole._

_An idiotic asshole._

_Please stand up. Just stand up, boy._

The Beast was whispering at the window, looking at Timothée’s crouched body in the garden.

 _Please. Break the stable doors with angry kicks. Try to run away through the fields._ He groaned. _Or come back here. Come home. Come to me. Hit me, scream at me, I don’t care. I cannot breathe with you on the ground…_

 

~

 

Turning to his room, the Beast started pacing.

 _How could I have been so harsh? What is wrong with me?_ He sighed, head in his hands. He felt ashamed and yet a part of him knew that unfortunately he couldn’t have behaved in any other way.

When Timothée had grabbed him, anger twisting his beautiful face, he had felt insulted. How could this humble boy challenge him like that? And why - having met him what, a week ago? - was he already so affected by what he thought or felt?

_Fuck._

He liked dominance, he always did, even more so when he was still a human Marquis. The need to assert his power over the boy had been so strong… _I fucked this up so badly, merde!_ His lion was shivering, wanting nothing more than run downstairs, grab Timothée, have him naked in 5 seconds flat and lavish attention on the boy - lapping him everywhere - until he was a blabbering mess coming allover himself. Sure, like that would go down so well! What a way to frighten Timothée forever!

He groaned loudly.

 **“What do you think you are doing, stupid Beast? I haven’t sent this boy for you to torment!”** The witch’s silvery voice was dripping with anger. 

“I just told him the truth of things”.

**“Oh, really? Is this what you did? Do not dare insult my intelligence! Are you really so foolish?”**

“You tell me. It’s you that turned me into this.”

**“Oh no, no, no. This appalling behavior is all Arma—”**

“Don’t you dare pronounce that name!”, he roared.

**“Well, if you prefer I’ll call you by your title, silly creature. The Marquis de L. is the culprit in this, that arrogant sod! Was he not pleased when the boy didn’t fall for his incredible charm?”**

The Beast sighed. “If Timothée only knew what I was before”. _How I looked before..._

**“Always whining, Marquis. A word with him about it and he will be taken from you instantly! Beware!”**

He shuddered. _Would she carry him someplace else? Or turn him into a —?_

“Please”, he begged. “I pray of you, don’t hurt him. Don’t make him pay for my stupidity”.

Her voice became sweeter. **“So you do care about him after all, Beast?”**

He didn’t like how she could see through his defenses. “He’s mine. That’s all.” 

 **“For now!”** , she quipped.

“Just don’t—”, he tried to mutter, but with a **“Look at him…”** she was gone.

____________________________________________________

Timothée stood up. The air was cold and night was approaching. He hugged himself, trying to calm his breathing. With a sigh, he turned, stomped into the chateau and slammed his bedroom’s door, heading straight to the bathroom where he found that a hot bath was waiting for him.

“So, it’s not just food”, he mused sadly.

The water in the tub was soothing, infused with rose oil. He scrubbed his face - dirt had caked his cheeks while he was sobbing on the moist earth. His head was pounding but his thoughts were clear.

_I’m strong. I have to survive this. I know I can._

Just thinking of his father’s betrayal made him want to cry again. _Don’t go there. Just don’t._ His fingers skimmed his torso. _I lost weight. I need to recover fully._ He sighed loudly. _Fuck! Winter is coming - I need a warm place and good food. At least till spring._

He looked around. He hadn’t even known bathrooms such as these existed. At home, _which home? you don’t have any..._ the bathroom _there_ was just a privy in the back yard. The bathtub a wooden vat that had to be filled with buckets of lukewarm water. And here he was, bathing in front of an ornate mirror with a roaring fireplace at the side. He was not moronic, he knew that this was the place he should stay in, if he wished to fully recover. At least for a while. But the way the Beast had treated him, making him feel like a slave, was making his blood boil. He was not cattle, for fuck’s sake. He felt so angry he wanted to scream and thrash the place.

In all the years his father had neglected and beated him - constantly disapproving his ‘futile passion for art’ _you are a boulanger’s son, forget these insane dreams_ \- he had tried to be good, to work hard, constantly looking for ways to appease him. And yet he had sold him, without caring for his destiny! Furious tears blinked in his eyes. _I have to find a way to run away._ Castles like this always had some kind of secret passage, or maybe even underground tunnels like the one that was discovered in the neighbouring city of S., connecting the male and female buildings of the convent - to the dismay of the Archbishop, then ridiculed by the populace. Maybe the property bordered a river that could lead someplace else or... _Be patient,_ _Timothée_ _. You recuperate fully, explore this place for escape routes and in spring, at the latest, you’ll be out of here!_ With a plan in mind, the boy was feeling slightly better. He had decided conveniently not to think about the Beast.

 _Just focus on one day at a time,_ _Timothée_ _._

Now, there was something else he had to do.

____________________________________________________

 

The Beast felt him approach before the knock at his door - the boy smelled of uneasiness and trepidation.

“We have to talk”, he said.

The Beast stood up and went to the door. The boy’s green gaze - even if scared - was assessing him quite coldly. 

“Yes. You can kill me with a rifle. But I can smell gunpowder so you should be quite distant if you want to take a shot at me. I wouldn’t bother with a knife or sword, I’d knock it easily off your hands but I could break your arm in the process. Probably your best bet would be with a vase thrown from the balcony if you can calculate the trajectory right…”

The boy paled and then went beet red. _God, he’s so delectable when he blushes._

“I hadn’t thought...”

“I know, better to say it in any case”, he smiled. “How can I help you, Timothée?”

“I...”, he looked at this feet. “I want to know everything. No, I need to know everything”.

“Are you sure?”. He felt the sadness in him.

“Yes, please”.

So the Beast answered the boy. He told him how he was in the woods with Spartacus when he saw the carriage. How he listened to the men speak crudely of the sick boy they were transporting. How they intended to rape him while unconscious.

Timothée shuddered but urged him to go on. The Beast told him how he had slit the throat of the taller man, how the other one has pissed himself and tried to escape, how he had grabbed him and demanded to know what was going on. The scumbag had begged for his life and recounted all of his master’s horrible crimes - how he liked to rape and torture boys, how afterwards they often disappeared without a trace. As for their prisoner - he was the 17 year old son of Chalamet, the baker in the village of D., drugged and sold by his father in exchange for his gambling debts. The Duc had planned to “serve” him to his guests, but the Beast could have him as well if he spared him, the lowlife had said. No one would know. That last phrase had signed his death penalty. Not that the Beast would have let him go, but… _No need to explain the boy that the man's death hadn’t been the swift one of his companion._ The satisfaction he got by ripping off his arms might be too much for him to fathom.

“What happened next?”, Timothée croaked.

“I took you here and started healing you, following the procedures that magic gave me. After a couple days you seemed stabilized enough that I could go and visit your father”.

The boy paled considerably, but remained silent.

“I didn’t know if I could fully trust those villains. So I wanted to check myself. I found him with a broken nose and swollen lip. He was terrified by me, obviously, but elated in a way. I, a monster, had taken you - apparently the Duc hadn’t liked the return of the carriage with two dead bodies and no ‘entertainment’. They had thought that maybe you had recovered enough from the drugs and killed both men. They advised your father to look for you and call them as soon as you came back because the debt was now way higher. He seemed relieved that he could now say a demon had taken you, that it was all my fault. I asked him how much the debt was, then I gave him 5 times that sum”. 

“So, does he live?”, Timothée asked.

“Yes. I wasn’t sure you would have forgiven me for killing your father”. 

He swallowed. “So you just bought me. And for a sum that I cannot repay ever. How is that different from what was planned for me?”, he asked glumly.

 _He looks so broken._ The lion in him didn’t like this sadness at all - he preferred anger, he knew how to handle that.

The Beast sighed. “I wish I could tell you that I won’t hurt you, ever. But that wouldn’t be true. I already did today, I behaved like an asshole.  I’m sorry, I really am. But I’m sure I will hurt your feelings many times more. I’m not a good... creature. I am a Beast. But I plan on being honest with you. I won’t lie to you, ever. There are things I may not tell you because I’m not allowed to, but…”

Timothée was looking at him intently.

“I won’t rape you. I won’t torture you. I won’t hit you”. At that a grimace passed on the boy’s face. _Damned Chalamet! I wish I had killed that fucker._ “Also I won’t belittle or scorn you. I know you do not wish to be here, but this is a safe place for you. I hope in time you will see that”.

The Beast was drained and Timothée as well judging by his looks.

“Why don’t you get some sleep and maybe tomorrow things will look slightly better?”

The boy nodded. He doubted he could sleep, but felt so wrung out by the events of the day that he couldn’t do much else.

“I think I have more questions”, Timothée said. “Not tonight though. I feel exhausted.”

The Beast nodded. “You can ask me whatever you want, when you are ready. Good night Timothée, try and rest some”.

He went towards his room, Spartacus at his heels. He turned, the boy hadn’t moved.

“Would you like for Spartacus to sleep in your room?”

Timothée opened his eyes in astonishment. 

The Beast smiled. “He has already done that for a few nights, to keep you warm”. 

The boy’s eyes filled with unshed tears. He swallowed and fidgeted. 

“Just call him to you, if you would like that”.

“Sp- Spartacus?”, he whispered. The dog tilted his head listening to him. “Sleep with me?”, he said opening his bedroom door.

The dog waited for his Master to nod, trotted and jumped on the bed. The Beast wanted to tell Timothée to just kick him away, he should be sleeping on the floor, but the boy was already burying his head in the dog's neck, sniffling.

He closed the door and left them alone.


	9. Tregua

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timothée and the Beast discover that they share the experience of a painful childhood. For once, they interact without being angry and prejudiced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all know what 'tregua means, right? It's truce in Italian ;-)
> 
> PS Starting next chapter things will start to steam up. Yay! These two have a long way to go, but they both need some loving and they seem getting ready to give in. Finally!

 

Timothée woke up to the sound of deep snoring. He turned and chuckled. Spartacus was sprawled on the bed, all drooling mouth and strong limbs, and had pushed him to the far side of the mattress, almost making him fall. _Silly dog!_

His head pounded, so he welcomed the herbal tea that was on the nightstand. This magic thing was useful for sure, but definitely creepy, he mused. Thinking about yesterday made him wince – revelations so disturbing would haunt him for weeks, if not months. He was sure the Beast had left some details out, probably not to scare him or gross him out more – he had seen the concern in his light blue eyes while he recounted what had happened. _How can he be so despicable and caring at the same time? Why is he so harsh and dominant one moment and kind and attentive the other?_ _Well, he told you why. He’s a Beast after all – what can you expect?_ A knock at the door startled him and woke Spartacus, who started whining to be let out.

“Good morning, Timothée. When you are ready come downstairs, please. There’s something I want to show you”, the Beast said, before taking his appearance in.

He gasped. Just woken Timothée was adorable, all puffy eyes and pillow-creased cheeks. He was a bit sweaty, he smelled of sleep and something else… He tried to sniff inconspicuously– citrusy and floral at the same time. Is this his natural smell? Does he really smell like verveine? He wished to sniff his head and neck closely, to stroke his dark curls and see what would come out of it. There was a light musk undertone drifting up, _is it because of my scrutiny? uhm, the boy is blushing._ The Beast just wanted to fall on his knees and smell him way lower, nuzzle his cheek on his groin.

_Fuck! I wanted to show him around and now I have to jerk myself off or I won’t be able to keep my paws off him._

“Later”, he grunted and ran away.

_________________________________________

 

Mouth slightly open, shining eyes - Timothée was fascinated. A big ballrom full of mirrors and a smaller one with needlepoint chairs, the family chapel with statues of the Virgin Mary and St Hubert patron saint of hunters, a magnificent tapestry room, the hunting trophies’ parlor, everywhere sumptuous ornate decoration, antique furniture and paintings, lots of paintings. He could spend hours studying, copying and learning from them. He was transfixed.

The Beast was observing him from afar, loving the grin on the boys’s face. _Enfin! He’s finally understanding what he has here, what this home can mean to him._ For the first time in his life the Beast understood what people meant by saying that the meaning of money is the opportunity to be generous, to give pleasure to someone other than yourself. This thought surprised him, but Timothée’s candid delight was so fresh, so innocent. There was no escaping his charm.

“Come”, he said with a grin. “I think you’ll love this room”. He opened up the library doors and let Timothée in. The walls were lined with dark walnut bookcases, filled floor to ceiling with books, old and new, in every subject a man could possibly be interested in. The boy started to jump like a child at a village fair. “This cannot be real! Are you kidding me?” He went to stroke the bindings, careful, as if they could break at any time. “You know, I loved to sneak into Abbé Jacques’s library, but it’s a like a tenth of thi-” All of a sudden a pained frown turned joy into grief.

“Oh my God, he must be so worried! How could I even forget about him! I’m just horrible!”, he croaked.

“Hey, hey, Timothée, what are you talking about?”

“Abbé Jacques! He’s my teacher, my mentor, he’s… the best father I didn’t have”, his voice was quivering now.

The Beast felt a pang of sharp jealousy. _Of course he has people he loves! He’s not a recluse like you are!_ _Be gentle this time!_ “Why don’t you write him a letter?”, he sighed. “Tell him that you are alive but you have been very sick. That you feel better but cannot come back to the village. Here, come. The desk has everything you need”, he shuffled some papers to find the stationery.

Timothée touched the cream, velvety writing paper embossed with a red rose on top.

“It’s beautiful paper, I’ve never…”

“Here - ink, quill, blotter, wax”. The Beast took off a signet ring from his left hand. “Seal your letter with this. When you are done, I’ll take it to him”.

Timothée swallowed and looked at his feet. “I don’t want to put him in trouble”.

Saddened, the Beast lifted his chin with a finger. “Does he love you?” The boy nodded shyly.

“Good. Then he’s a wise man and a friend of mine from now on. I wouldn’t even think of hurting him. Far from it. Please believe me”.

Timothée looked at his blue eyes, at a longing he wasn’t sure he could understand.

“Why would you do this for me?”

“Because I care for you?”

“You want to fuck me!”, he said, peeved.

The Beast snorted. “Oh, boy. What a mouth you have!” He wished to make some joke about teaching him his place but he saw the suspicion and sadness in his gaze. “Yes, Timothée I want to fuck you”. The boy paled. “And I can guarantee you that you would enjoy it very much, I’m not inexperienced, you know. So, yes, I may try to seduce you some day. I wish I could say that I only enjoy your company and I don’t find you attractive at all. It would be a lie and I don’t lie to you. Ever, remember? But I care for you. So, write to your friend, I’ll give him your letter. I don’t expect anything in return".

“You gave me your signet ring. Are you not going to read the letter before I close it?”

“No, I won’t”.

Timothée opened his mouth to say something, but closed it quickly. He was stunned and didn’t wish for the Beast to change his mind.

“When you are done, check the corner turret! If you liked this room, you’ll love it there!”, he winked.

 ________________________________

 

_This kitchen is huge! And yet there’s no food in sight!_

Timothée had opened every cupboard, looked in the larder and found nothing. The food they ate didn’t come from here, evidently. He peeked into the brick oven, noticed the wooden peel at the ready and memories flooded him.

He remembered the days when his father was sober and would teach him how to bake bread. He then felt an older memory creeping in. A soft laugh, a caress on his hair, a lump of dough that he was trying to shape into a lamb, for Easter. _Maman_ , he thought. Now his oven _\- this oven -_ was cold and pitch black and empty. His eyes filled with tears.

The Beast felt his sadness through the room and came to him. He looked at the downward-cast eyes, the trembling lips. His hand moved slowly to the boy’s face, waiting for Timothée to recoil from his touch, but he didn’t and he started stroking lightly his cheek.

“I wish I could be better for you.”, he whispered. “I wish I could make your sadness go away”. _I truly wish I could do that for you, boy_.

“My father betrayed me”. The boy’s shoulders slumped. “I knew he was not the most affectionate man, but I hoped he loved me. I know I’m not the best son. I’m smart-mouthed, not always obedient but…”

“Don’t”, he said. “Please, don’t. You listen to me, you have done nothing bad. What happened it’s not your fault!”

“I was not what he wanted…”.

The Beast went closer, wanting to hug the boy, to tell him ‘everything’s going to be allright’ but he was scared. If he had him in his arms he would do something stupid like nuzzling him and kissing him and caressing him and the boy didn’t need that. He needed a friend, he needed to feel understood.

“I know what it’s like. Disappointing your parents just by being yourself. Believe me, I know”.

The boy listened. Tilted head, hand curled under his chin.

 _You have to tell him. You have to show yourself vulnerable if you want to help him. To really connect with him._ The Beast started talking and, like a dam that had broken, there was no turning back.

“When I was little, my parents were not interested in me. I was conceived just to replace my older brother who had died. They had two daughters but I was to be their heir – only that mattered. I was brought up by nannies and tutors, my parents were too preoccupied by their miserable power wars to take care of me. I was useful for their purposes alone.”

Timothée was looking at the Beast, the bitterness in his words evident.

“They were appreciative only when I did something that furthered their own ends, whether I did it on purpose or not. I learned very quickly that I was supposed to behave in a certain way if I wanted to have their attention, but I resented it. I wished they would love me and care for me. I was badly mistaken”.

The boy’s hand went to his arm. His eyes were compassionate and the Beast strangely liked it. “It seems you had a very lonely childhood”.

“I was still lucky in a way”, he told Timothée. “Alwen was with me”.

“Alwen? It’s not a common name…”

“Yeah. She was my nanny. She was Welsh. I don’t know how she came to live in France or work for my parents. But she’s the closest to a mother I ever had.”

The boy nodded. Like for him with Abbé Jacques, for the Beast the love of a parent had been a kind gift offered by a stranger.

He was smiling now and looked younger, more human. “She smelled of lavender soap and sugar. She would alway hide a biscuit for me in her apron. When I scraped my knee she would come running and kiss my hurt away. She hugged me when I had a fever and told me countless stories of dragons - that made me cry with fear. She would laugh at me, saying that a nobleman with a sword has nothing to fear in life”.

He snorted. “And then, there was this time…”, he was openly laughing now. “God, that was so fun!”, he dabbed at his eyes. “My father bought a giant turtle. Wait, do you know what a turtle is?”

“Yes, I saw it once in a book”.

“So, my father buys this turtle and has the servants put it in the garden. He calls everyone in the castle to admire this weird animal brought from the Far East. Which is sort of asleep, probably wearied by travel, I don’t know. So my father says to Alwen, ‘You will have to take care of it’ and points to the animal, meaning to feed the turtle. She goes near it and says, ‘No way, my lord. I don’t care going this near to a man’s dick. I won’t surely pet an animal’s’. We were all stunned and burst out laughing”. The Beast is openly crying now. “You see, she thought that the turtle’s head looked like a penis, and she thought my father wanted her to stroke it...”

Timothée was laughing, tears running down his cheeks as well. The story was so silly - he could totally see how Alwen could have mistaken a turtle’s head for a floppy old dick. He was the one dabbing at his eyes now.

“Alwen was hilarious! What happened to her?”, he asked, and quickly bit his tongue by the reaction he got.

“My parents sent her away. They thought her to be a bad influence on me”.

“What? Why?”

He shrugged. “Apparently she hugged me and kissed me too much. That wouldn’t do if I had to become this hard nobleman ready to conquer the world. They thought she was making me weak, too sensitive. But I think what made them tick was when they arranged my marriage”.

“They did what?”

“Yes, I was eight and…”

“Wait, eight years old?”

“Yes, that’s the way of nobility, you know. They had decided that a merging of two powerful families would do wonders to their expansion plans. They announced it to me as a big thing to be proud of, but I was scared. I didn’t really grasp why at the time, but I was utterly terrified. I went sobbing to Alwen. She probably could see through me better than myself at that age. Maybe she knew I liked boys even when I was not aware of it yet”, he looked at Timothée and saw him blushing. “She hugged me and told me that it was way too early to think about marriage and that I needn’t worry. She loved me and she would help me have my happily ever after, no matter what. Someone must have overheard us, because next morning when I woke up she was nowhere to be found – my parents had sent her away”.

Timothée swallowed seeing the pain in the Beast’s eyes. “What did you do?”

His eyes turned darker. “Well, I guess they got more than they bargained for. In the years that followed I grew up and became the hard and unforgiving bastard they wanted me to be. Broke my marriage off and started drinking and partying all the time”. He sighed. “Sorry, this is not an edifying tale”.

His tone was sarcastic but Timothée was not fooled. The hurt was there, surprisingly similar in nature to his own. _Who would have thought?_

He touched his arm again. Shyly at first, but then with a strength that surprised the Beast. “You were lucky. You had a mother in Alwen, it doesn’t matter if she’s not the one who birthed you. You had her and she was taken from you too soon. And that’s horrible. But at least you have the memories. You know that she loved you. You know her hugs. I envy you that”, and then it was all too much and Timothée crumpled on the Beast’s chest. Bewildered, he cradled his body - a hand on his nape and another on the small of his back.

“I wish I could remember my mother. There are times I seem to recall a detail, a smile, but then I’m not sure”.

“She loved you more than life itself”, the Beast whispered.

“Why are you saying that? How can you be sure?”, he sniffled.

“Because you are the most loveable creature I have ever met”.

He let himself stroke the boy’s curls, kiss the top of his head. “She must have been so proud of you, her perfect little boy”.

Timothée beamed. “Believe me Timothée, I just know it”.

He didn’t know why, but he decided to believe him.

He let himself be hugged by the huge furry Beast and felt peaceful for the first time in days.


	10. Melancholia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timothée is pensive. There is more to the Beast than his appearance would suggest. And yet he doesn’t wish to be his prisoner, does he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is a shortish one, but I feel Timothée’s emotions deserved a chapter of their own. Next one coming up tonight.
> 
> Thanks again for your comments and kudos. They are deeply appreciated! ;-)

 

A few weeks had passed and autumn had come.

Days became greyer and rainier, fallen leaves turning to slick mush under Timothée’s feet, his breath a cold fog ghosting his face as he walked through the gardens. He had taken to exploring the grounds of the castle, silence a welcome friend to his thoughts - the ones he couldn’t share with the owner of the place.

As Nature was starting to freeze herself into the near death that precedes spring, he had felt the opposite, thawing under the kind - although curt, at times - care of the Beast.

When had it happened exactly? He couldn’t really pinpoint a single, specific moment.

It had all started that time in the kitchen, when he first felt heard and understood, _by a Beast, go figure_. The way he had shared his hurt and loss had made Timothée feel less alone. And when he had laughed till he was crying… well, that was unexpected. Who knew the Beast could be funny? Under that terrifying appearance there was a witty soul, apparently.

He had then proceeded to bewilder Timothée when he told him to choose a bedroom for himself. “I put you in the nearest guest suite, you know, when I was caring for you, it was more practical but… Please feel free to explore this place and find the room you prefer”. The boy had imagined he wanted to keep him near - to control his movements, to have access to him… _“Yes,_ _Timothée_ _I want to fuck you”, he had said._

He blushed at the memory. And yet he had kept strictly to himself, respected his space and Timothée had wandered through the palace and even slept in a few of the beautiful rooms. The Beast asked no questions. He returned to his room after a while, though. If he was being honest, it was truly the best one. He loved the pale green floral wallpaper, dotted with painted parrots and pink peonies, the dark wood canopy bed, the big desk by the window, the stone fireplace with the couple petit-point armchairs in front of it. The room felt cozy, welcoming. And he didn’t feel like he had to hide from ‘him’, after all.

Timothée had been moved more than he cared to admit when the Beast had come running towards him one day, apologizing profusely for having forgot to tell him that he had brought some things from his father’s house. “With all that has been happening, I forgot. I am deeply sorry Timothée! It’s all in the corner trunk. I am so, so sorry!”

The boy had looked at him and ran to his room. When he saw the first item, he started to sob. It was a small charcoal drawing he had made – the copy of his mother’s portrait, the one at the Priory. A warm hand was rubbing his shoulder. “Do you wish to hang it over your bedside table?”. He had nodded. “Good, let’s do it now”. He also had brought him his only book, ‘Les fables de La Fontaine sélectionnées pour les jeunes’ and his rosary, both gifts of the dear Abbé Jacques, his notebook and pencils.

He had hugged the simple objects to his chest.

“How did you know?”, he asked.

“If I missed something, just tell me. I can go back and-”.

“How did you know?”, he repeated.

The Beast shrugged. “They smelled of you”. 

And now, as the boy walked through the gardens, observing pathways, scattered statues and dried up fountains, he started to feel slightly guilty.

During the past weeks, he had done nothing more than exploring the property inside and out, noticing which steps creaked under his weight, at what time the Beast went out and came back, if he was with the dog or alone. He had been calculating distances, climbing up on tall trees to try to decipher the landscape, always pondering.

He had a plan in mind. He had until spring to prepare and fine-tune it. He would be free, then.

And yet, why was he feeling so upset?


	11. Sapor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Beast is a beast after all and when he ‘hears’ his boy… he knows exactly what he wants from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sapor means 'taste/flavor' in Latin. Hint, hint ;-)
> 
> Hope this doesn’t trigger anything. Consent may be dubious (at first?) but I promise it’s there!

 

Moans woke him up. The dog was at his usual spot, near the fireplace, asleep. No danger then. The Beast listened. Yeah, it was just the boy, in the other room. _Is he dreaming? Or is he in distress?_ He decided to check on him - he crossed the hallway and opened quietly the door. The smell hit him and he smirked, own cock jerking at the sight. The boy was naked on the bed, encircled by the soft moonlight filtering from the window. Right hand moving quickly, breath hitching, shoulders trembling. _No, no distress at all_ , reckoned the Beast, cheeks getting warm at the sight of his thin back rippling in time with the jerky movements of his hand.

_You shouldn’t be here, go away._

The boy shifted and moaned again. Left hand went to his throat and rested there, slightly pressing his windpipe.

 _Mon Dieu,_ the Beast could not avert his eyes. _Il est si beau._ He was finding it very difficult not to moan as well - he was getting painfully hard, mesmerized by the involuntary show Timothée was putting on for him. Right hand was moving faster now, the boy was close, his body tensing and arching.

The Beast was lightly stroking his cock through his pants. _He keeps going and I will come in my breeches like a horny youth,_ he mused. As if driven by his thoughts, Timothée keened, pearly ribbons of come spurting on his chest.

The Beast groaned, couldn’t help it. The boy’s head turned, eyes going wide and blushing violently.

 _He’s so embarassed. I should go_ , he thought _. Hell no, no fucking way!_

The Beast strode to the bed, Timothée trembling at his approach. He crawled towards him and grabbed the boy’s hand, still on his spent cock.

He looked at him, noticing his reddened cheeks and neck, his shivering frame, the thick white globs clinging to his chest.

Timothée tried to shift, to cover himself with the sheets.

“Don’t”, he hissed. “Don’t ever hide yourself from me”.

The boy went redder, if that was even possible, but stilled.

 _Beautiful, so beautiful._ He brought his wrist to his mouth and licked, heard Timothée gasp _such a lovely sound_ and purred softly. Long licks swirling on the boy’s palm, he sucked every single digit clean, moaning while tasting his come.

“Hands over your head. Don’t move them. Let me look at you”.

 _Fuck,_ the Beast thought _. Is this too much? Am I pushing him too hard? What if-_

Timothée opened and closed his mouth - like he wanted to say something but changed idea, bit his lower lip, raised his arms and threw them across his face, covering his eyes. The Beast wanted to tell him ‘this won’t do at all, I want to see all of you’ but decided not to push it. He was already stunned enough by his calm obedience.

This is how he wanted him, always. Warm and pliant under him.

Timothée was shivering in the aftermath of his pleasure and for the shame of being so exposed. Couldn’t really understand which of his feelings was stronger. _What is happening?,_ he whispered to himself.

The Beast was taking his time. He had seen him naked before, while he was taking care of him. He knew by heart every nook and cranny of his body and yet he had never looked at him or touched him with a purpose different than lowering his fever or cleaning him up. He had been so scared of losing him, worried only about his safety. Sex hadn’t been on his mind.

Of course he had thought him beautiful, he was a male after all, but…

This, now, was completely different. His boy was healthy now - lively and conscious and responsive and so fucking beautiful, all flushed skin and sweaty brows.

_Mine. You are mine._

The Beast bent and started licking the come from the middle of his chest, just avoiding his nipples, reveling in seeing them peak. Trying to ignore the whimpers that followed, he dipped his tongue in the hollow of his throat, where a pool of come had collected. When he nipped at his neck, Timothée moaned.

He shivered. _Calm down, Beast. This is not for you. This is for him. Well… sort of…_

The tongue slithered down his torso, lowering to his groin - the boy’s legs parted instinctively and then closed. _Fucking modesty raising her ugly head!_

“Relax, boy. You don’t want that to get all dried up on you, right?” He dived back in, delighted by the gasp that followed.

He licked and teased but kept away from the boy’s cock until he whimpered, thighs shaking. Timothée couldn’t resist taking a sidelong glance – he opened his eyes just in time to see the Beast nuzzling at his cock, which under his ministrations was becoming hard again. He caught the boy’s movement and grinned at him, canines showing.

 _Aargh, the shame_ , Timothée thought.

 _Blessed youth!,_ the Beast appreciated, before swiping his tongue from base to tip and delicately sucking his slit.

“I knew you would taste delicious”, he whispered and was gone.


	12. Risus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timothée is a bit ashamed of what has happened - the Beast is trying to be good, but it’s hard! Luckily for them the boys are slowly learning that laugh is the best medicine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lemon juice invisible ink is a thing. Used to do it all the time as a child. Google for instructions ;-) 
> 
> Risus means ‘laughter’ in Latin.

When he woke up, Timothée was glad that the Beast was nowhere to be seen. He needed time to himself, to clear his head. A note said that he and Spartacus would be out all day hunting, that Timothée was to enjoy himself. He blushed at the underlined word, was he hinting at-?

Gosh. He had never felt more ashamed of himself.

What had he thought, jerking off with him so close? Obviously he would feel that, with his liony instincts! _Aargh._ It had been so long since last time and he needed the release, but... That was so embarassing.

 _How will I be able to look him in the eye again?_ He had seen the Beast’s hunger when he had come near him. The hard-on in his trousers, the way he licked his lips. And then… how he had cleaned him up, like he was the best delicacy ever. Steady and slow, smirking, always looking at him, checking on him, making sure he was enjoying his attentions.

He was inexperienced, but not so naïve as to think that what had happened didn’t change things between them. What would the Beast think of him? He surely had looked foolish, like a horny kid unable to keep quiet, moaning so hard that he had woken the Beast up.

_And now? What now?_

Would he be called to do it again in front of him? Or worse, was he supposed to reciprocate that?! The thought made him blush.

_Oh no, no, no._

_I couldn’t do it, ever. Could I?_

Timothée groaned and started worrying his lower lip with his teeth. He was scared as hell but hard again.

 

______

 

Le vite de' più eccellenti pittori, scultori e architettori – wow, what an amazing book! He should ask the Beast if he had read it. _Of course he has, he’s the one who suggested it to me._ He groaned.

Evening was approaching and he wasn’t sure what would happen when the Beast came back from his hunting day. _You cannot delay the inevitable._

He closed the volume, bookmarking it with the note that the Beast had brought back.

This was just one of the many things that had baffled him – the Beast was a true mystery.

“This is for you”, he had said, handing him a note baring the neat writing of Abbé Jacques. _What?_ _Was this even real?_

It seemed the Beast had indeed delivered the letter he wrote. He had summoned the monk, hidden in the dark corner of the cloister covered in a hooded cloak and gloves, handed him the letter and said he would wait for an answer.

When he had offered to deliver a message, Timothée had been suspicious. _Why would a captor do that?_ And yet again the Beast had surprised him, his behaviour not what he had expected. Not at all.

The note he brought back had a latin motto on it, in the ornate calligraphy of the holy man. _Per aspera ad astra._ He hadn’t been sure of the meaning and the Beast had translated for him. "Through hardship to the stars". His eyes had filled with tears - it seemed everything he did was cry these days.

The Beast had left him, slightly embarassed, and Timothée had brought the note to his head sniffling. It was then that he had smelled a faint lemony scent and had remembered. He brought the note near a burning candle. And there it was, a hidden message written along the border. ‘If you are safe, do not come back to the village. Men have been looking for you! If you don’t feel safe where you are, escape but do not go home! Come directly to the Priory, say your vows and as a novice you should be protected.

He had shuddered. The Beast had been right – his claim of danger was no ruse to keep him quiet. He was still in jeopardy.

 _Why? What do these people want from me?_ Timothée sighed. _I hope that in spring all will be forgotten. It has to be!_ The boy was glad for the monk’s affection, but not really willing to enter priesthood. _There has to be another way…_

He cut out the part of the sheet with the message and burned it, saving the motto. He clung to the ancient words of wisdom as a sailor to his cork life jacket. In stormy times he needed all possible help.

~

To pass the day, he started, tentatively, to play the piano. He knew nothing of it, couldn’t read sheet music - never had been any money for lessons in his household. But he liked whatever kind of notes he was getting from the instrument.

He skimmed a few books, before settling upon the volume on the lives of past artists. That he had access to such a fine library was still astonishing to him.

Sooner than later, he heard noises from downstairs – the Beast was back.

In a panic, he ran to the chaise longue near the fireplace, flopped down with the book open to cover his face and pretended to be asleep.

_Please, let him see me and go away. Please, please, please._

He heard footsteps and paws on the stairs. The door opened and Spartacus ran to him and started sniffing his hand. The Beast shooed him away. “He’s sleeping. Let him be”.

 _Oh, thank God!_ , Timothée thought.

The Beast was looking at him, amused. It was so obvious to him that the boy wasn’t asleep – body too rigid, heartbeat too fast. _How is he even breathing with such a heavy book on his face?_

He went to the side of the room, grabbed the first armchair he saw and a random book from the shelf and plopped himself right beside Timothée, propping his feet on the chaise on which he was lounging.

“Ah, reading. Such a superb pastime”, he said out loud. He made a show of leafing through the book making noise. “I think I’ll be here all night educating myself”.

He stretched his legs, encroaching in Timothée’s space. “It’s so very confortable in here”.

A groan escaped the boy’s lips.

The Beast chuckled. “Is Sleeping Beauty waking up?”

Timothée flung away his book, cheeks red in embarassment. “You knew I was awake. That’s not fair”.

“Why are you hiding from me, Timothée?”, he asked tilting his head. “Please tell me”.

The boy’s shoulders slumped. “I didn’t know what to say… about… tonight”.

“I see”.

“I mean… you saw me like that and… I know it’s a sin and I shouldn’t do it. Even doctors say that you could lose your sight if you do it and…”

“Wait, what?”, the Beast was struggling not to laugh. The boy was already flustered enough. “If that were true, I would have been blind since I was 12”, he croaked.

“Well, doctors also say that your hand can become quite hairy if you do it frequently… Ahem”.

“What?”, he bawled. “Are you making fun of me?” He started laughing incontrollably. “You are so… so… God, I have no words”.

“Stop laughing at me!”, Timothée whined. “This is not fun at all!”

“Oh yes, it is”, he dabbed at his eyes. “Sorry, sorry, Timothée. I was so scared you were avoiding me because I behaved like an asshole”.

The Beast went serious all of a sudden. “I heard you moaning and I thought you were in pain. I should have knocked at the door. Instead, I entered your room to check and when I saw you like that… I should have left. But I was enthralled and… I’m sorry Timothée. You know you could have told me to leave right? Please tell me you knew you could have told me to stop at any moment…”, he groaned, hands covering his face.

“I, uhm, I didn’t think about that at the moment”, Timothée was blushing.

The Beast took his hand in his, fingers caressing his wrist.

“Look at me, please”. The boy’s green gaze studied his face.

“There is nothing wrong in giving yourself pleasure. Don’t believe in everything the priests or the doctors say, ok? You are not hurting anyone, not even yourself. Trust me when I say that my fur has nothing to do with masturbating”. He smiled. “As for us… I’ll keep my paws to myself. Please don’t think you cannot say no or owe me anything or… I don’t know - whatever you may be thinking. Just don’t. Please.”

Timothée blushed deeply, cheeks almost as dark as his lips. “Even if… even if… I liked it?”, he whispered, lowering his eyes.

The Beast groaned. _Fuck, boy. You are killing me right now. If I thought that bloody witch was a torturer… You have nothing on her!_

“Please don’t”, he exhaled. “I’m trying to be good. I want to be good. I-”

Timothée wasn’t listening anymore. He was wide eyed, looking at the upturned book on the chaise longue…

“Is it that what you were reading?”, he chuckled, pursing his lips.

The Beast looked at him uncomprehending. He had been too focused on the boy to really look at the book he had pretended to read.

“Yes, why? What do you mean? Who cares? I’m trying to be all serious here and-”.

The boy’s hand was shaking, finger pointing at the volume.

“What?”, he growled. “What’s the matter now?”

The Beast grabbed the book, read the title and whimpered.

Of all available volumes, why oh why had he put his paws on 'Tete de mouton, pouf and hedgehog. Wigs and hair styling à la mode for the proper Lady who wants to make an impression when entering a ballroom and thus secure a Husband'? _  
_

“Nice choice, I suppose”. Timothée was laughing histerically, falling from the chaise and rolling on the floor while Spartacus excitedly licked his happy tears and jumped on the boy’s body.

The Beast spared a moment to think about his old self. At how appalled by this conversation he would have been, how angry that this ‘peasant’ would have the stupidity to try and embarass him.

He shrugged. Things were quite different now. All bets were off.

He left the room with the offending book under his arm. “I have important reading to do. I cannot waste time with your giggling nonsense”.

When the Beast felt that he was at a dignified distance, he started to giggle himself.

Who would have thought that laughing together was something so endearing?


	13. Meditationes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timothée starts to think about his future, about what he wants and what he feels. The Beast is on his mind, but is he willing to truly let his guard down?
> 
> \- dedicated to PerpetualStorm who is worried about 'stealthy Tim' :-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter about the boy’s thoughts. It’s rough for him trying to understand what to do in such a situation.  
> Interaction between our two boys resumes in next chapter ;-)
> 
> Thanks again for following! Your kudos and comments are much appreciated.

 

Timothée stilled, fingers grazing the door’s handle.

He had avoided the corner turret for a long time, since the day the Beast had shown him around and told him “if you like the library, you’ll love that room”.

He sighed. 

He knew he was being silly, but still... he couldn’t bring himself to enter.

_Come on! I saw that it’s just a study. It’s not a dungeon! Why am I feeling so weird about it?_

Actually, he thought he knew the answer, but didn’t really like it.

Up until now, he had passed his days plotting his escape, sketching and taking notes. The Beast, at times, had seen him draw in his notebook and smiled. Timothée had consequently felt conflicted - from the outside he looked like someone practicing art, but he knew the truth. He was only refining his plan - strategies and measurements were his focus, not the beauty that surrounded him. In another time, at another place maybe, the exquisite rooms and the objects they contained would have been an endless inspiration. Until now, though they only had been fodder for his purpose.

And yet, with every passing day, he felt that something was off. At first he couldn’t grasp exactly what - he just felt an underlying sadness to his actions.

In time, he came to understand that he was tired of ‘having’ to constantly remind himself of what had happened and of what he was supposed to do. He was tired of thinking about his father’s betrayal, those men’s intentions and where he could escape to. He was tired of having to be wary of the Beast and his dog.

He didn’t truly feel like he had to, not anymore, but a small voice in the back of his head urged him to not let his guard down.

It was like his life had split in two: horrible things that had happened in the past (that a part of his mind was still ruminating) and a future of possible dangers and loneliness. He was exhausted. This constant worry was so draining - maybe he had not fully recovered after all or maybe he was only upset that life had taken such an ominous turn.

Whatever the case, he was getting sickened by the way his relentless thoughts had been ruling his days. The distaste was getting worse, especially after some recent moments, during which he had felt almost content.

At first he was bewildered to discover that those moments happened mostly not when he was alone, but when the Beast was around.

Yes, because when ‘he’ was near, Timothée didn’t think (his sad thoughts blessedly left him).

He just felt.

He felt ashamed about almost everything, thinking of how ignorant and silly he looked.

He felt frequently embarassed, berating himself for being such a wimp. 

He felt moved listening to the Beast’s childhood stories. 

He felt he wanted to know more about him - what he did all day, what he liked to read, what was his favorite colour...

He felt that the budding ease between them was good. 

He felt like laughing - certainly not every day and not all day - but at times... at times he even felt happy. 

He. Felt. Everything.

Sure, certain thoughts and feelings turned his cheeks pink. _Merde._ What made him blush the most was a budding longing for something he couldn’t really name - a wish to touch, to be touched.

It was as if his emotions, after weeks of miserable muddy greys, were coming back in vibrant colors. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to let them go.

Timothée sighed.

Just thinking about this made no sense whatsoever. He only knew he wanted to feel better, lighter, happier.

He opened the door and entered the study. A pleasurable thrill ran through him. The room was round, filled with sunshine. An easel on the side, a table full of pigments, a cabinet with sheets of paper and canvases of all sizes. And then pencils, erasers, brushes. A true artist’s paradise – even though Timothée found the magic infusing the place quite unsettling, he couldn’t deny how perfect everything was.

Touching softly the papers, he acknowledged why he hadn’t wanted to be in the room before.

To spend the day there would mean refusing to think about the past and the life he knew before. To sketch, paint, portray would mean settling in, being in the present moment. It would mean refusing the greys of pain and accepting the colors of a feasible contentment.

Giving himself the time to develop an idea for a painting, sketch it and draw it, refine it and transfer it to canvas, paint it and let it dry… _Fuck_ , it meant staying put, getting involved with the place, giving this place a part of himself. 

It would feel like acknowledging that this, in time, could become a home. He wasn’t sure he wanted this. Hell, he didn’t like to feel like he had no choice. He didn’t like it at all. but he was tired of being so sad.

He took a charcoal pencil, sat on the stool and set to work.


	14. Rursus incubus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timothée has the worst nightmare and the Beast comforts him…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my lovely readers: Due to some family issues (nothing bad, just festivities approaching with relatives coming from out of town during a home renovation that is dragging on forever!) I will post the next 3 chapters (including this) and then take a pause. I hope it’s just a couple weeks, but “I needed you to know, I wanted you to know” ;-) so that you wouldn’t think that I’m abandoning this fic! Never in a million years! Especially not now that things are moving forward for these two stubborn creatures. Gosh, I need them to fu** already! Silly boys, they make me mad!  
> Love you always! Take care.
> 
> PS Rursus incubus means ‘nightmare, again’ or ‘another nightmare’ in Latin

 

The hunt had been good.

He had finally got the foolish bear who injured the girl from the adjoining village, the one who was gathering kindling, sadly too near to the animal’s den.

He didn’t truly know at first why he had felt so compelled to rid the woods of the dangerous bear, but he had seen the hurt girl and her dark brown curls had done things to him.

 _I’m becoming such a softie_ , he thought. _It’s almost ridiculous._

Her family wouldn’t know the name of whom had brought the dead bear at their door, together with enough money to pay the doctor. Selling the bear’s pelt would ease some of their concerns - he was a magnificent son-of-a-bitch after all, 9.2 feet of black fur.

Now the Beast only wanted to go home and attend to some of his cuts. The fight had been satisfactory, but quite harsh.

He heard the moans as soon as he entered the castle. He smirked. _Boys and their sexual drive,_ he thought.

His smile faltered immediately - something was off. They were not sensual moans, they were sounds of distress. His nose caught the sour stench of fear.

“Please, no! Let me go!”, he heard Timothée scream.

_Someone is attacking the boy?! In my home?!_

He roared, canines and claws quickly elongating with rage while running up the stairs. Spartacus growled at the door. He slammed it open and saw Timothée thrashing on the bed, legs and arms tangled in the sheets.

“No, no, no”.

The Beast ran to the boy, deeply affected by his sobs and sad pleas.

“Shh Shh, Timothée, breathe. It’s just a dream”.

“No, fuck you. I said no”, eyes still closed, he trashed in fear and anger.

“I’m here, calm down, you are home”.

Timothée was struggling against him with all his might.

“Open your eyes, Timothée. Look at me. You are safe”.

He finally focused his gaze and, with a terrified shudder, recoiled from the Beast.

“Let me go, let me go”. More sobbing. Timothée crumpled into a heap on the floor.

“Hey, calm down. What’s going on?”

“Please, don’t… Don’t kill me”.

The Beast took the boy’s face in his hands, “What are you talking about?” Only then he saw his bloodied, lengthened claws.

He gasped and turned to catch his reflection in the mirror – he saw in horror fangs elongated, clothes wet with blood sleeping from his cuts, gore from the bear splattering his trousers. He looked like a true monster.

_Fuck. This is so messed up! I’ve been so cautious not to let him see me like this, to always have my fangs and claws retracted. Fuck fuck fuck._

Seeing Timothée so scared of him wounded the Beast. As much as he wished to comfort the boy, he knew he couldn’t do it like this.

He went to his room and cleaned himself as thoroughly as he could, taking his time. No need to do things badly and scar Timothée more than he already had.

The Beast groaned. _Fuck, of all things… This had to happen! Just now that we were starting to get along..._

When he returned to his room, the boy was standing on the balcony, breathing in the cold air.

He grabbed a coverlet and brought it to his shoulders. Timothée turned, a calmer expression on his face, and looked at him.

“It was just a dream”.

The Beast nodded and handed him a cup of tilleul infusion. “Here, take this, it will help you relax a bit”.

“I am so stupid”.

“No, you are not. Bad dreams happen to anyone. I’m sorry if I scared you”, muttered the Beast.

“You looked so enraged. I freaked out”.

“Of course I was. I thought you were being attacked. My instincts kicked in”.

“What happened? Why were you covered in blood?”

“Went hunting. Now I wish I cleaned myself before coming home, but it’s getting cold at the river. I didn’t think... And then I heard you in distress and…”

He noticed the boy was not looking at him.

“Hunting… men?”, Timothée asked, lips quivering.

The Beast felt his shoulders slump. Of course! He had been having an horrible nightmare and when he woke up, seeing him like that, he thought…

The Beast sighed. _Fuck, Timothée, is this really how you see me?_

“Bears. Actually a specific bear who had been attacking people in the village of D.”

“Oh, I see”, the boy seemed ashamed.

The Beast didn’t care if he thought him a killer of men. He had been, after all, when he had killed those two assholes and he had no remorses. He just hoped Timothée didn’t think him a true demon, attacking innocents for the fun of it. That was the Duc’s pastime, apparently, and he had nothing to do with monsters like those.

He sighed, “Timothée, would you like to share with me what is really going on?”

“Not really, sorry”, the boy sounded tired. “I apologize for the concern I caused you”.

“Hey, don’t even mention it. Why don’t you try going back to sleep then?”

“Stay?”, the boy whispered.

The Beast wasn’t sure he heard what he thought he heard.

“I mean…”, Timothée was looking at the floor, apparently very interested in the rug pattern under his feet. “Stay here, with me?”

He looked at the boy open mouthed - there was no way he could say no to him. Not now. Not ever.

“Sure, why don’t you finish your tea and hop in bed. I’ll stand guard. No nightmare will pass”, he said as he plopped into the armchair by the fireplace.

 **“What do you think you are doing?!”** , uttered a familiar silvery voice, quite angrily.

“Watching the boy”, he answered the witch.

**“You are such an idiot! Why are you here and not in bed with him?”**

“What are you talking about?”, he scoffed. The whole witch-talking-inside-his-mind’s faculty, that at first he thought harrowing, meant that at least Timothée was not aware of this preposterous conversation.

**“He asked you to sleep with him obviously! And yet here you are!”**

“You are insane”, he retorted. “He asked me to stay in this room, not in his bed”.

**“Which is where you should be, comforting him”.**

“He needs a friend, a protector. Not a lover, you cunt”, the Beast was getting angrier by the second.

**“How can you be so silly? This was your chance to show yourself as something more… You will never learn, will you?”**

“You don’t get it, don’t you? It’s my fault. It’s all my fault”, he wringed his hands.

**“What are talking about?**

“I came on too strongly the other night. I shouldn’t have gone to him at all. I scarred him and now he has nightmares…”

The witch’s voice got sweeter. **“Beast, you are deeply wrong. I reckon that stunt was bold but-”**

“And how would you know about it?”, he groaned. “No, please, don’t tell me, I don’t really want to know!”

She giggled. **“Silly Beast, I know most of what happens because I can feel your emotions. They are quite strong since the boy came here”.**

The Beast covered his face with his hands.

 **“He asked you here, he wants you here”** , she whispered sweetly. **“Do you really think that if he had dreamed of you attacking him, he would have asked you to stay? That makes no sense. He feels fine with you”.**

The Beast pondered this. _Could she be right?_

 **“Look at him – how shaken he is. He needs you or he won’t be able to sleep tonight!”,** she said before leaving.

The Beast watched surreptitiously the boy, who was clutching at the sheets, gaze on the ceiling, swallowing audibly. Spartacus was already asleep on the bed, snoring loudly.

The Beast sighed. “Timothée, can I come close?”

The boy’s eyes widened, head nodding shily.

He got up and went to sit on the bed, in the far corner. “Listen, I’m going to ask you something but you can say no, ok?”

Another nod.

“Can I hug you?”, the Beast whispered.

Timothée bit his lower lip before saying “Yes, please”. Just when the Beast was approaching him, he halted him with a raised hand. “You are bleeding!”, he gasped.

“Oh, it’s nothing, just a scrape. Don’t worry”.

Timothée gaze went to his side. “I don’t think it’s nothing. I think you should check it better”, he stated crossing his arms over his chest.

“Overprotective much? Oui, Maman! I’ll check it now!”, he chuckled, rolling his eyes, before taking off his chemise.

“See, it’s nothing. Let me apply a bit of pressure and it will stop”, he bundled up the linen and pressed it against the cut.

Timothée looked at him, he had never saw him half naked. He had the finest blond hairs on his upper body. They were very short, covering the expanse of his broad chest, aside from the exterior of his arms and the central part of his chest – the hairs were longer there. He truly looked like a mythical creature, a living being whose existence originated at a time when Gods and Goddesses ruled the world.

“Please, move a little”, the Beast said. Timothée shifted to his right, disturbing Spartacus who huffed before resuming his snoring. The boy smiled and patted the dog on his head. He loved how goofy the Dogue was.

The Beast sat on the bed, pushed his back straight against the headboard and opened his legs. “Come here, boy”.

_I may be overdoing this, but… here we go._

Timothée looked at him wide-eyed and the Beast chuckled before snatching him and sitting him between his legs, Timothée’s back to the Beast’s chest.

Timothée sighed and left his head fall back onto the shoulder of the Beast - who was bracketing Timothée’s legs with his own, arms encircling the boy’s.

“I got you, Timo. Nothing will hurt you again”.

A tear trailed down his cheek. “You know…” the boy whispered “my mother used to call me Timo. Her parents were Italian and she always said that thyme was her favourite herb… I don’t really remember it, but a distant aunt told me so.”

“Timo is a lovely nickname”, he said, kissing the top of his head. “Did you know that the word thyme relates to strength, spirit and courage? Medieval ladies sent a sprig of it with their knights to help instill those virtues in them during travel and battle”.

“Is there anything you don’t know?”

The Beast chortled. “When you live alone for a long time like me, you have to entertain yourself with reading…”

“Even about ladies’ wigs?”

“Don’t be a brat now, boy”, the Beast growled softly. “But I can call you Tim, if you prefer. At times, you know, Timothée is quite a mouthful, and Tim or Timmy would be easier. It’s what Alwen would have called you”.

“I like Tim, but Timmy is for little boys. And I’m not one”.

“Fair enough”.

Timothée sighed and relaxed into the embrace. Somehow looking straight ahead, and not into the Beast’s eyes, made it easier to talk. He wondered if that was the reason the Beast embraced him like that from the start. Whatever the reasoning, he was feeling calmer and willing to speak.

“The men that came to take me from my father’s house... I dreamt of them”.

“I see”. _So the witch was right after all._

“They were hurting me. They were doing things to me… I was trying to fight them but- they were too strong”.

“It was just a scary dream, they can’t hurt you. They can’t hurt anybody anymore”, he growled.

“Am I going to Hell for that? They are dead and…”

“Although I doubt that the teachings of the Fathers of the Church are entirely true… I sincerely hope there’s a Hell somewhere. They should be rotting right now as we speak”.

“Beast, please…”

“Listen to me, Timothée. You have done nothing wrong. They decided to be criminals, killers. What happened to them was quick and painless and they didn’t deserve such an easy death”. He was lying about that but the boy didn’t need to know. “And if somebody’s going to Hell, that would be me not you”.

“But you did it to save me!”

“And I’d do it allover again. I feel no shame for what I’ve done - I did some shameful things in my youth, but I’m not ashamed of this. Not at all”.

Timothée was silent - the Beast sounded furious again. “Those assholes, my only regret is not having killed them before. But I swear, I’m no stone-cold killer. I’ve never killed anyone unless threathened”.

Timothée turned his head to look at the Beast.

“I know what you see when you look at me, I know it’s not easy to trust me”, the Beast whispered.

“I feel safe with you”.

And as soon as Timothée exhaled it, he knew it was true. In his arms he felt protected. Like being encased in an armour. A living, breathing, strong armour. He felt the care and power radiating from the Beast.

“Do you?”, he asked.

Timothée nodded and shifted on his side, his head under the Beast’s chin, almost nuzzling him. He inhaled deeply.

“You smell good”, he yawned.

“Do I?” All of a sudden the Beast felt like he wasn’t able to breathe properly. Air had been knocked out of his lungs, who struggled to function as they should. He had no words left.

“Mmmm. Earthy and spicy. Like sandalwood” he dozed “and tobacco and-”

Timothée was asleep, clinging to the Beast’s chest.

 _“What the hell is happening?”,_ he thought, heart beating fast and irregular.

He breathed softly, afraid of any sudden movement that could spook the boy.

“I got you, Tim. I got you. Sleep tight”.

The Beast embraced him fondly. He glanced at Timothée, almost scared that he could suddenly wake up and recoil from his arms. He took in his dark curls, his translucent skin, the adorable freckles on his nose, his impossibly long lashes, his soft pink lips.

_Fuck. Now I have to thank that dreadful witch. Who would have thought?_

He sighed.

_“I can’t imagine what will happen to us. I just know that you’ll hate me sooner than later. Right now, though, I don’t care. Right now, at this precise moment, it is heaven”._


	15. Fallaces sunt rerum species

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timothée has started caring for the Beast and feels the need to clarify some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title of this chapter means ‘the appearance of things is deceptive’ in Latin
> 
> Inspiration for the menu came from this article: https://www.telegraph.co.uk/foodanddrink/7037298/A-banquet-for-Louis-XIV-recreated-at-the-Palace-of-Versailles.html
> 
> As for the baking business, I have no idea – I just researched stuff, so if I wrote something horribly wrong, let me know. BTW How fun is to do research for fiction? ;-)

 

“Shit, shit, shit”. Timothée was struggling under the weight of the wooden peel. “Stupid Timo! How can you be so stupid?!”

He groaned - when that morning he had decided to bake bread, his brain had gone the usual route, working in volume, like he was preparing for the shop.

He had conveniently forgot that this was not ‘his’ oven, that this particolar one had been off for a long time, that before even thinking of warming it he had to clean it thoroughly (even the chimney – apparently a stork had decided to nest up there some time in the past!), that it made no sense calculating a dozen or more loaves for a single batch (which is what he was accustomed to) nor trying to bake 5 different kinds of bread in such occasion, that he had no precise idea about the kitchen and the adjoininig rooms’ (larder, butler’s pantry) temperatures – so that consequently he had no accurate idea of fermentation and proofing timings.

The result of his clumsiness? His schedule for loading the loaves was nonsensical, mixing the dough took too long (since he couldn’t retard the first batch - that he had stupidly prepared before embarking on the adventure of the oven cleaning, _I should have just set the dough outside, it would have been cold enough, why oh why am I so stupid?_ and temperature fluctuations were not considered as precisely as they should have been. In the end, the majority of the whole grain loaves over-proofed and were a little flat, the first batch of fougasse was hard as a brick and he was fucking exhausted.

“Aargh”. Frustrated, Timothée threw a baguette across the room just when the Beast was entering.

“And good morning to you!”, he chuckled. “What’s going on?”

“Aaarrggh”, was the answer.

“Mmm. The smell here is mouthwatering”.

“Aaaarrrrgggghh”.

“Ok, ok. I am so not getting what it’s going on…”

“Oh, you want to know what’s going on? I’ll tell you what’s going on”. Timothée threw up his hands in despair. “A baker has to understand how long the mixing will take based on the equipment he is using. If that’s the case, he has to start working earlier to accomodate his limitations. Things take the time they take and a baker needs to schedule accordingly!”

“Ooook?”, the Beast was doubtful and quite amused at such display of angry passion.

“You need to be accurate!”, Timothée continued, exasperated. He was walking back and forth from oven to table to Beast. “You have to stagger your start times so that loaves are delivered to the oven when they are ready to go. Fougasse, that requires active fire, has to go in first, then breads like baguettes that need a hot start and then loaves that can do in a cooling oven. You have to constantly assess your mix of breads to take advantage of temperature fluctuations!” He sighed, deflated.

“And you…?”

“I royally fucked up!”. Timothée groaned. “I didn’t consider that I had to start from scratch here, I prepared dough for 20 people and couldn’t stagger the baking. I am a mess...”

“Well, let me try and judge myse-”, the Beast tried to grab a bun.

“Ouch! Really, Timothée? Hitting my hand with a spoon?”

“Don’t you dare!”, growled the boy. “Those experiments are inedible”.

“Well, it seems like Spartacus here would like a taste”, he said seeing as the dog was sniffing around, drooling allover the place.

“Well, I guess he can have it. Him and the woodland creatures only. It’s cold season and they can do with some bread. Even if it’s hard.”

“Hey, I’m a woodland creature as well. Sort of.”

“No bread for you!”, Timothée barked.

“Down boy. Behave. Good boy!”, the Beast chuckled. “Wow Timothée, I’ve never seen you so grumpy”, he turned to leave.

“Wait”, the boy grabbed him by his arm. “Dine with me”.

“Wh- What?”, the Beast stuttered.

“Dine with me. I want you to try my bread. It’s the best one, you know. If I can get it right, I mean. And by tonight I will”. The boy was blushing, eyes downcast, foot kicking at some crumbs on the floor. “I mean… Why are we both eating on our own? During the day, I get it. You are out all the time, you have things to do… but at night we could dine together, right?” He looked up expectantly.

“I, um, hadn’t considered that”, the Beast croaked.

“Oh, sure. Forget it. It was just an idea.”

“No, no, no, I’d like to, it’s just that…”, how could the Beast express how stunned he was? _What the hell? Is he really saying that he wants to regularly spend time with me, at least at dinner time?_

Timothée went wide-eyed all of a sudden.

“Oh, forget it! I’m sorry! I hadn’t thought this through! Probably you like to eat your food still… 'mooing' and I don’t know if I could watch…”

“What?” The Beast crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t eat my food still mooing! I like my meat in a stew, with a glass of good Bordeaux, thank you very much!”, he pouted. _Well, that’s not always true, but the boy doesn’t need to know that, does he?_

Timothée giggled, “Ok then, I’ll see you tonight”.

“Only if this time you try and bake something easy on the teeth. I’m not ready for dentures yet”.

The Beast ran to avoid the bun targeted at his head.

___________

 

Timothée was stunned.

He had never seen the dining room in all of its magnificence. Actually, it had never been prepared for a proper dining feast before, there just hadn’t been the need.

It was glorious.

Lit chandeliers were everywhere in the room, their light reflecting on the mirrors dotting the walls. On the big, oval table were the finest damask tablecloth, crystal glasses, silver cutlery, gorgeous blue and white Sèvres porcelain dishes. The food was already there – his bread front and center – with a scroll menu that described the courses: Royal ballotine of pheasant, Bisque of shellfish with a boletus infusion, Wild duck cromesquis à la Villeroy, Hard-boiled egg, Green and fresh herb salad in gold leaf, Fruit.

He swallowed - just reading it made his head spin. He was so out of his element. His bread looked too humble and silly nested between these sumptuous dishes.

“See something that you like?”, a deep voice asked.

“What the hell is a ‘cromesquis’?”, he turned and faced the Beast.

“Just breaded foie gras with rice”, he answered, noticing the slight anxiety of the boy. “Nothing to fear”.

“I, uhm, might have underestimated this”, Timothée signaled with a sweeping motion of his hand. “I don’t even know why there are so many forks and knives on the table”.

The Beast surveyed the setting. “Let’s do it like this”. He went and took the chair from the head of the table and brought it near Timothée’s, then proceeded to transfer plates, glasses and cutlery.

“Sit, Timothée. I’ll show you. But first…”. He grabbed a piece of bread and started eating it.

Timothée didn’t know why he was so tense waiting for his verdict. Well, he was a nobleman, a gentilhomme (gentilbête?) used to the finest things in life. He felt silly now, with his fixation on his boules and baguettes. He was just a silly country boy that-.

“It’s amazing Tim. Really the best I ever tasted”.

“Don’t coddle me”, he said glumly.

“I’m not doing that”, the Beast retorted. “I’m all for being honest, remember?”

“You truly think so?”

“Yes, I do. The crisp crust is perfection. Can’t wait to dunk it in the bisque”.

“I thought that was a faux pas in elegant dining”.

The Beast laughed. “The whole existence of me is a bit of a faux pas, don’t you think?”

Timothée relaxed a bit.

“Just follow my lead”, the Beast looked him intently. “In an elegant dinner you always start using cutlery from the outside…”

~

 

“I’m so stuffed”, Timothée patted his stomach giggling. “And a little tipsy as well, I reckon”.

They were sitting on the armchairs flanking the fireplace, the Beast nursing a glass of cognac, Timothée drinking some herbal tea.

“Well, we could ‘ask’ the powers that be to serve lighter fares from now on. Or, even better, to arrange less cutlery and more venison”.

“You are such a beast!”, grinned Timothée.

“Yup, that’s me!”, he smiled. “Thank you for inviting me, Timothée. I liked dining with you”.

Timothée looked at the Beast. His blue eyes _beautiful blue eyes_ were bright and shiny.

“I mean it, Timothée. I hadn’t really considered asking this of you”.

Timothée tilted his head, trying to decipher what the fuss was all about.

“Maybe this means that with winter coming I can be at home more…”

Timothée swallowed drily. _Wait, what? What is he trying to ask me? Oh God, had he really been out of the palace most of the time for fear of not being wanted here, in his own home? Had he been avoiding me most of the time because he thought he was unwelcomed?_

All the colour drained from Timothée’s face, guilt creeping in.

“What are you talking about?”, he croaked.

The Beast shrugged, “Just what I said. Do you think I could-?”

“Stop, please stop this. Now”.

“What’s the matter?”

“Are you really asking me if you can hang around more? Because winter is coming and it’s cold outside? And you were thinking to… to do what exactly if I said no? Be outside in the snow until I deigned you of my company?”, Timothée was shaking. A mixture of shame and pain and something else he couldn’t really pinpoint. Bile threatening to come up.

“Hey Timothée, calm down. This is escalating wildly. I was not asking for permission. I was just thanking you for-”

“Stop! Stop thanking me. I haven’t done anything for you. I…” _So much for being honest_ , he thought glumly. He pursed his lips, chest heaving with dry sobs. “Wait here. You wait here”, and he ran upstairs.

Shame was tingeing his cheeks when he handed over his notebook. The Beast eyed him curiously and started to leaf through the pages. Faces were peaking at him – the impish look of a mischievous child, the lines on the face of an older woman selling mussels, the tired smile of Abbè Jacques, when he had been healing the sick. And the priory belfry, the cobbled roads of the village and animals, quite a few animals, from the dead game hanging from the butcher’s shop to-”

“No, not those”, Timothée grabbed the notebook, leafed through it and pointed to the last pages.

“This is what I’ve been doing while you were out”, he breathed.

The Beast looked at the sketches of rooms, hallways and passageways. Notes stating how many steps lead from a room to another, squeaky doors and windows hinges, when and for how long the Beast was out. He closed the notebook.

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Because I thought you should know.”

“Because you thought I should know?”

“Because I wanted you to know.”

“I see”, the Beast said coldly. He stood up and handed Timothée the notebook. ”If you think I want your pity, you are severely mistaken, boy.”

“What? No, no, it’s not like-”

“Oh, it’s not like that? Is it me who is misguided? I don’t think so”, the Beast barked.

“I’ll tell you how things really are Timothée. I don’t know why, but you are feeling guilty. Probably your idiotic Catholic upbringing or your silly mind. I don’t care. Either way is pathetic and I don’t do pathetic. If you’d think I care… Fuck, did you think I’d be touched by your honest confession? Wait! This is it, right? Wow Timothée, now I get it. I deeply underestimated you!”, the Beast chuckled harshly. “If you imagined that inviting me to dine together and than confessing your escape plan would move me to tears and bring me to free you… You are way ill-advised”.

“No, no, no. You don’t understand, it’s not like that, not at all”, Timothée pleaded. “Please let me explain”.

“There is nothing to explain, Timothée. You said it clearly before, you are not cattle. And that is obvious, no animal would be so stupid as to piss me off.”

“Listen, I…”

“Fuck yourself”. The Beast stormed out of the room, a hissed “traitor” on his lips.


	16. Melius loqui

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A much needed conversation is required to set things straight. The Beast and Timothée are ready to get over their bullshit and move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for following along. We have gotten to a pivotal moment for our boys. If you wish, tell me what you think will happen next – your comments mean the world to me.  
> See you in a couple weeks. Hugs and happy holidays. Love is Love is Love!
> 
> PS Melius loqui in latin means ‘better to speak’ ;-)

 

The Beast didn’t even know why he was pissed.

Timothée had been clear from the start – he didn’t want to be there, was appalled by his father’s behaviour, loathed the idea of having been sold.

The Beast couldn’t find a fault in that.

If he were in his place he would have been trashing the castle from day one, trying to be so unbearable as to be thrown on the streets sooner than later. But he was not a thin, wary boy like Timothée. Even as a teen he had been tall and strong, not many wanted to mess with him and now… Well, now he was big, ugly and scary - couldn’t really blame Timothée for trying to do the only sensible thing and work his brain - not brawl - to extricate himself from this mess.

He sighed.

Having him there, under his roof, had awakened a longing he didn’t knew he had. A longing to be seen, to be accepted, to be truly wanted – _fuck, how could I be so stupid?_

When he had brought Timothée home he hadn’t stopped to consider the whys and hows.

He wanted, he took. Selfish, as usual.

But Timothée was his own person. He was no doormat - even if he got emotional quite often, and that was understandable considering the situation. He had a will and was looking for a way. And yet the idea of Tim plotting his ecape had twisted a knife in his gut.

The Marquis in him wanted to bend the boy into submission, possibly using a visit to the dungeons to ‘clear his head’ from foolish ideas. The lion in him wanted to fuck and possibly breed Tim (silly animal instincts - no magic could make two males breed anything).

But what did ‘he’ want? What did this new ‘he’ - that was slowly emerging from the ashes of his own self - truly wish?

He had thought that things were slowly getting better with Timothée, that maybe they could get to a point where they could be truly friendly to one another. Or even more than that. Recent events had suggested other previously unimaginable possibilities. Conversing with him, comforting him, holding him tight while he slept, _fuck_ … licking him dry! He groaned – his body was so not helping in these matters. Just thinking about Timothée’s naked frame, shivering and blushing, made him hard. He wanted nothing more than to mark him with his smell, bite his neck while covering his body with his own come, moan while pushing inside him...

“Rotten witch”, he roared. “I hope you know how much I hate you!”

~

Timothée was looking at the Beast from afar, observing him as he chopped wood with a vengeance. Strong branches were reduced to pointless slivers - even a gnomes-sized fireplace couldn’t use them, he mused. In the past couple days Tim had tried to talk to him and was given the cold shoulder. A grunt had been the only answer when he had tried to make idle conversation. An icy stare had pierced him when he had asked, once again, for a chance to speak.

The boy was becoming discouraged. There had been no more dining together, obviously, but what really pained Timothée was the hurt he saw in the Beast’s eyes. He was usually scowling, but, when he thought the boy wasn’t looking, sadness was the only emotion reflected on his face.

 _How could I be so stupid,_ groaned Timothée. He had reacted on the wings of emotion and without thinking about the consequences for either of them. _Idiot, idiot, idiot._

Timothée took what was left of his courage and strode to the Beast.

“I need to talk to you”.

“There is nothing to say”, he countered.

“Stop being so stubborn and let me-”

“Fuck off”.

“No, you fuck off”, Tim retorted angrily.

“Of course. Why not?”, the Beast growled, throwing away his hatchet and walking towards the palace.

“You’ll listen to me, now”, Tim barked. _I can’t even make him look at me._ _Father was right after all, I’m useless_ , the thought brought him to tears. He started sobbing without even noticing.

The Beast felt his turmoil rising like a turbulent wave. _Here we go again. I hurt him, just like weeks ago. Nothing has really changed._ That’s why he had started splitting wood – fury was way better than pain. Much more manageable. He sighed. There was no way that he could see Timothée like that. Not again.

“Have a drink”, he passed his flask to Timothée.

“No, thanks”.

“Have some water, you’ll feel better”, the Beast tried again.

“No”.

“Fuck, boy, couldn’t you obey me for once? Or should I just bend you over my knee?”

Timothée started bawling his eyes out, taking the Beast by surprise.

“What is going on, Tim?”. He couldn’t understand why the boy was so affected.

Timothée grabbed his chemise, face burrowing in his chest.

“Please, let me speak. Stop pushing me away”.

The Beast’s resolve crumpled. “Tim, calm down. I’m here. I’m listening”.

Timothée nodded, still sniffling. The Beast tried hard to not think about the dampness on his chest or he would have to find a fast solution to the existence of Timothée’s tears and the only thing that came to mind was kissing him silly and banish those vexing tears away forever.

Timothée burrowed further on his chest. The Beast relented and hugged him, feeling him melt in his arms.

“I like this. I like us like this”, Timothée whispered, his breath making the Beast shiver. He waited, in silence, wanting the boy to feel free to talk.

Timothée sighed. “This is the reason why I wanted to tell you. This. I don’t know what ‘this’ between us is but… I wanted to be honest with you. I needed to be”.

The Beast exhaled. “Listen. I know you don’t want to be here. Believe me I get it. Who would want to see my mug every day?”, he tried to smile at the boy. The smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Shut up, just shut up”, Tim hit his chest with his fists. “I am trying to explain myself. And it’s hard enough”, he complained.

“What happened to me was… horrible. I felt so bad. I hated it here. I needed to find a way to survive. I was going crazy. I… I couldn’t believe that what was happening was real. My life was not mine, not anymore, probably never was since the beginning”, he uttered cynically. “I needed to feel in control of something, however small and I thought I might have a chance to run if I got healthy again, if I survived winter. I cannot go back to were I was – it was dangerous, it still is”.

 _Wait, how does he know that?,_ thought the Beast.

Timothée shivered. “I only wanted to be free, to be happy. I still want to be”.

The Beast stroked lightly his hair. _Of course you want to. You are young and beautiful, you have your whole life ahead of you._

“If I were smart I shouldn’t have told you. What a cunning strategist I am, right?”, he laughed bitterly. “I fucked up so bad! Now you know all about my plans and you will be watching me like a hawk every day – talk about stupid strategy. Moreover, I hurt you. I didn’t want that. You have been mostly kind to me and… this has nothing to do with you. This is me wanting to be free”.

 _Of course it has everything to do with me. If I were the handsome son-of-a-bitch I once was… Oh, Timothée, I have no doubts you would be quite glad to be here_.

Timothée looked at the Beast. “I wanted to hate you so badly! I thought I hated you at first”, he groaned. “Then you gifted me with such luxury as I would have never seen in my whole life. Fine clothes, and books and a study that is perfect for painting. Things so rich and beautiful that I felt-”

“Money means nothing to me, it never has meant anything. Of course it’s great to have a lot of it, but it’s meant to be spent and… You don’t owe me anything, Tim!”

Timothée shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you? All I thought was ‘oh, he’s trying to buy me, like a whore’. And why would he do that seeing that it’s not like I can go anywhere?”, he said glumly.

The Beast took a step back, horrified. _Wait, what? Is this really what’s been going on in his mind? What he felt all these weeks? How could I not notice? Fuck._ He felt angry at himself. Throwing things at Timothée, while keeping his distance, had ended up hurting them both. He should have told him that he genuinely enjoyed his company - no strings attached - or that the happiness he expressed while painting made his beastly days so less bleak than before. _He is such a brave young man. Of course I would be so selfish to think he’d be more than happy with books and loneliness._

“Tim, I’ve never thought of you like that. Believe me, I-”

Timothée’s breath hitched.

“Why didn’t you share this with me? Why didn’t you tell me-?”, croaked the Beast.

“Are you serious? Would you confide your deepest sorrows to your captor?”, Tim murmured.

 _And he is the one who feels stupid_ , he groaned. _I am the champion of stupid._

“Then you go and do all those chivalrous things like delivering my letter to Abbé Jacques - and waiting for an answer from him, bringing me my mother’s portrait from home and letting me free to wander and choose my bedroom and… And I thought, why? Why is he doing this? It makes no sense. Who is this person?”

“A Beast, Tim. I’m just a lowly Beast.”

“I didn’t know what to make of you. I couldn’t just fit you in the villain slot. That’s reserved for my father and his ‘friends’”, he spat.

“Timothée, I don’t know what to say”.

“I am sorry it’s all coming out jumbled like this. But the other night was so good. We dined and talked and we were good together. And then I felt bad”.

The Beast opened his mouth to speak.

“And before you say it again… No, it’s not Catholic guilt”, Timothée rolled his eyes. “I just wanted ‘this thing’ between us, whatever it is, to be nice and true. I wanted it to be real”. He was blushing furiously by now.

_It’s your turn now. You cannot leave the boy alone in this._

“Thank you for being so open with me, Tim”, the Beast whispered. “For trusting me with your feelings. I was an idiot, not listening to what you had to say. I am so sorry I behaved like an asshole. You see, I’ve never understood the idea of building genuine relationships. I didn’t know they could exist in real life, actually. When you are rich and a nobleman, people only want you for what they can get from you. You learn very quickly to not trust anyone and to use others as they use you, possibly before they do. In time, as you hurt and get hurt, it all evens out. Sort of. And you forget that things could, and should, be different”. The Beast was shaking by now. _What a crazy vulnerable conversation this is becoming._

“But you, Tim… You are unusual, incomparable to anyone I ever met. You are as pure as mountain water”.

Timothée blushed at that, his cheeks turning a deliciously dark pink. “You describe me as if I am some sort of angel. I’m not. Definitely not”.

The Beast chuckled indulgently. “I’m not referring to whatever notion of sex you have in mind, Tim. Your heart is pure gold. You are willing to give a chance to me, even if I am a monster. You look beyond my appearance, and this… leaves me breathless. I’ve been so insensitive to you. Believe me when I say that most of it is because I truly don’t know what I’m doing”.

Tim was listening with utmost attention - green gaze fixed on blue, hand curled under his chin.

“I gave you whatever I could only to try and make you happy. I will continue to do so if it’s ok for you”, the Beast sighed. “I’m not asking you anything in return, not even to forgive my behaviour. I am genuinely sorry”.

Timothée nodded. “We are a whole lot of a mess, aren’t we?”

“You can say that”. The Beast hugged him closer. “So, Tim, where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know”, he whispered, hating how whiny he sounded.

“Ok, listen”. The Beast decided then that he wouldn’t let his self-loathing and mistrust ruin everything with Tim. Whatever they had going on, it was worth fighting for. “It would be nice to start over, with no horrible backstories weighing us down. Just two men meeting for the first time”, he said caressing a particularly curly lock of dark hair, soft in his fingers. “Absent that… Why don’t we just take it one day at a time? You and I, here, in the present moment. No focusing on a lost past _that would be me_ or worrying about a distant future _that would be you_. No remorses, no secrets. No hiding how we feel and what we want. Just expressing ourselves freely, no pressures or expectations. We still have a few months together, right? I mean, before you attempt to flee from here? Late autumn and winter, until spring at least…”

Timothée looked away, ashamed.

“Hey, I’m not trying to set a trap for you by saying this. I’m just reasoning about it. In any case, I won’t have you out in the cold, no matter what. _Certainly not with those assholes still looking for you._ Let’s live life at the best of our possibilities and see what happens”.

Timothée was flabbergasted. This conversation had taken a road he hadn’t expected. “Are you serious with this?”

“I truly am. And you?”, asked the Beast.

“Yes. Seems fine to me”.

“Good”, he ruffled his hair. “So, right now, what would you like to do?”.

Timothée felt he needed to say something intelligent or sweet or witty. He opted to be honest instead, because wasn’t that the purpose of this whole mess of a conversation to start with?

“Eat”, he said. “Haven’t been doing much of that lately”.

“Good. Let’s find something to eat then. Everything will work out fine”.

The Beast doubted it but still. The air was cleared and this was a new start for them. He couldn’t wait to see what it would bring.


	17. Carpe Diem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank the Gods, finally. Fluff and smut! Enjoy! ;-)  
> (These two may have been driving me crazy with their antics)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The stunning tapestries in the Beast’s bedroom are inspired by a room in Rosenborg’s castle in Copenhagen. Saw it this year and I wished I could replicate it in my home - yes, I’m as flamboyant as that! ;-)
> 
> Carpe diem means ‘seize the day in Latin. That is ‘make the most of the present moment rather than dwelling on the future. Life is fleeting!’ Yup, wise message!

 

“Hey, shouldn’t there be a portrait of you here?”

The Beast turned and saw Timothée standing in front of the hallway fireplace, hands on his hips, tilted head, a smudge of yellow on his left cheek.

_He’s been painting,_ he thought.

“I mean, it’s the obvious space for the typical nobleman of the chateau representation. I can see that you left the older owners’ portraits but I don’t get it... If you like them it’s fine, but yours should at least be here, don’t you think?”

The Beast’s gaze went to where Timothée was looking at. Rows upon rows of stiff portraits of dead people. Men and women of the past, in varying hair and dressing styles. Some were smiling, smiles not really reaching their eyes. Most were scowling, looking at the observers like they were lowlifes. They had the same arrogant expression that once graced his lips.

It took him a while to understand what the boy meant. _Of course he thinks I bought the property from some noble family who fell in disgrace. He cannot know that these are my actual ancestors!_

“You don’t understand Tim. I...”

**“Stop. Right. Now!”** , the witch’s voice resonated clearly in his mind.

“I was just telling him...”

**“I said ‘Stop. Right. Now!’ I’ve been very clear with you. The boy must not know anything about your past identity. It is imperative. If he discovers what you were, I will be forced to take him away from here, from you. Am I clear?”**

The Beast shivered. “I didn’t mean to...”

**“Remember when I told you that love was your only chance at redemption? It would be so easy to tell him ‘poor me, I was such a handsome Marquis and then a bad witch turned me into this. Just kiss me and everything will be peachy again!’ You wish for an easy way out, am I right?”** Her voice was dripping with barely contained anger.

_Easy my ass,_ he thought. _Nothing has ever been easy since you turned me._

“I only wanted to-”, he tried to answer.

**“I don’t fucking care”** , she hissed. **“If you feel just a little interest in him, you won’t piss me off. You know things might get messy very quick!”**

The Beast shuddered. He surely didn’t want to put Timothée at risk - who knew what the crazy witch could do to the boy.

What he didn’t understand was how she could truly think he would believe her bullshit. The whole ‘only love can save you’ was evidently a ruse to torture him further. There was no way Tim could love him, now or never, and even if the random luck of the universe would grant him that (and he wasn’t so delusional to think it might) why would that change anything? His past self was gone. Forever. He felt it in his bones, in the way his instincts kicked in without much thought. In the way he felt protective towards the boy - like an animal caring for his mate. _Fuck. Why is this cunt so keen on making me suffer? Ok, I’ve been a royal pain in the ass in the past but..._

“Beast? Are you listening to me?”. Tim was looking at him quizzically.

“Uhm, yes of course. I was just saying that I don’t wish to have my portrait at all. Why would I even want to see my framed mug?”, he shrugged.

“Well… I was looking at this book and apparently it was quite common for the best courts of Europe to have portraits made of their most unusual members.”

“Timothée”, he exhaled, not liking where this was going.

“I saw this fillette, a certain Antonietta Gonzalez… her portrait was done by Lavinia Fontana, a great Bolognese painter. My, oh my, wasn’t she hairy for a little girl!”

“Tim…”, he growled.

“You know, they also painted a lot of dwarves at those times…”

“Boy”, he roared. “Enough!”

Timothée turned to face the Beast - saw the menacing glint in his eyes and cowered.

“I didn’t mean...”, Tim was blushing.

“Too late, boy”, he quipped. A dark expression on his face, he started walking towards Tim. He instinctively backed away.

He smirked. “Seriously, boy? Do you think you can just back out of this nonsense you’ve been spewing?”

“I, uhm…”, Timothée looked around, searching for an escape. His eyes focused on the door on the right. _If I can pass through the back allway and cross the kitchen, I can run through the gardens and…”._ He sprinted into a run.

“What the-?”, the Beast couldn’t believe his eyes. He chuckled. _The little shit… Oh, Tim, when I catch you…_

Tim ran, the Beast on his tail.

Armchair _dogded_.

Endtable _dogded_.

Tacky copper armor _dogded._

_I can do it, I’m almost there. I only have to-_

The Beast jumped and landed on the kitchen table just as Timothée was running beside it.

Tim gasped, air whoosing out of his lungs as the Beast tackled him to the ground, his body cushioning Tim’s fall so that he landed softly on the carpet at the end of the stairs.

“Going somewhere, boy?”, he grinned.

“I, uhm, I…”. Tim was panting and unable to speak.

“I ( _a light poke to his ribs)-_

said ( _another one, slightly higher)-_

are ( _a real tickle this time)-_

you ( _higher, near his armpit)-_

going ( _lower again, near his bellybutton)-_

somewhere? ( _a tickle to his most squirmish side)_ ”

At that, Tim was wiggling desperately, trying to curl himself into a ball and avoid the incessant tickling. Tears were running down his cheeks and he was laughing histerically.

“Stop. Stop. Stop.”

“No way, boy.”

“Please, please, please”, Timothée was trying to find a way to escape, but the Beast was pinning his wrists down with one hand and tickling him with the other.

_Fuck, Tim, you are so cute like this! I could do this forever._

Tim was positively snorting by now. “Come on, please, please. Stop. I’ll be good. I swear”.

The Beast chuckled. _Who knew this could be so fun?_

“Please”, Tim whimpered, “I can be good. I can be good for you.

The Beast gasped. _Has all the air been sucked out of the room?_ He looked at Timothée panting under him, tongue and teeth worrying his lower lip. The tension was palpable between them.

“Tim”, he exhaled while bringing his mouth to the boy’s neck. “Don’t be a tease”.

“I... I am not. I…”

_Gosh, the way he blushes is so sweet. I want to eat him alive._ The Beast breathed heavily. _It is now or never._ “Can I kiss you?”, he whispered.

Tim’s eyes were wide open as he nodded.

“Good”. The Beast leaned in and kissed Tim’s right cheekbone and then went lower, nuzzling his cheek. He then went up again and kissed the top of his head, inhaling his citrusy smell _why does he smell so good?_ , then proceeded to kiss his forehead and the tip of his nose.

Tim giggled.

“What? Don’t you like how I am kissing you?”

Timothée rolled his eyes. The Beast smiled - _is this too wholesome for you, garçon? I can change that! -_ and repeated his movements kissing his left cheekbone and cheek, then moved lower. Tim shivered when he started nibbling his neck.

The boy was speechless. _Fuck, fuck, fuck. Is this really happening?_ The heat from the Beast’s body was cocooning him, warm breath on his skin raising goosebumps everywhere. Tim felt on fire.

“Look at me”, the Beast said before green gaze met blue. He tilted his head - the part of him wishing to claim Timothée silenced by a new need for spoken words of consent, _go figure._

“This what you want?”, he croaked, not really able to do much talking after all.

Tim nodded.

“No words left? Cat got your tongue?”, snickered the Beast.

“Actually not yet”, smirked the boy.

_Fuck, you’ll be the death of me,_ thought the Beast before lowering his lips to Timothée’s.

It was a gentle brush at first, just at the corner of his mouth, his way of conveying _‘you can still change your mind, you know, just turn your head a bit to the left and make me kiss your cheek, I’ll understand and lift you off the ground, I’ll dust my clothes off and we’ll each go do our things, weren’t you painting after all? I have stuff to do too and-’_ but Tim hadn’t done anything to avoid his lips and the Beast suddenly had to kiss him NOW.

His lips were against his, pressing carefully at first but then acknowledging _fuck, this is not who I really am._ He swiped his tongue on the boy’s lips until he groaned and then wasted no time in pushing his tongue inside, caressing him with his breath, fingertips on the nape of his neck, tugging at his curls. The boy’s moan got him hard in seconds. _Hell, yes, yes, yes._

Tim knotted his fists in the Beast’s shirt, pulling him closer. He groaned softly, low in his throat, and gathered him against his chest. Tongues started dancing together, chasing each other. Tim’s hands went to the Beast’s mane, tugging lightly, glad when he obtained a reaction similar to his previous one.

_He is not totally inexperienced after all,_ thought the Beast. _He knows how to kiss. Wonder who taught him…_

They moaned simultaneously when all of a sudden their groins came to contact.

_Shit, he’s hard_ , the Beast thought.

_God, he’s big_ , Tim realized. _Obviously, you idiot. Why would he be any different ‘there’ than anywhere else?_ Timothée shivered, caught between arousal and fear.

The Beast felt his mood shift and exhaled. _Calm down, Beast. Take it easy._ He whimpered when he let go of Tim - all he wanted was to strip him naked and rake his nails all over his lithe body.

“Come boy, time to go back to our previous activities”. He offered him his hand and lifted him up from the floor. Tim was blushing and awkwardly trying to cover his lap. The Beast ruffled his hair and kissed the top of his head.

“Later”, he said before leaving.

———-

 

Timothée passed the day painting. As he worked, he couldn’t not think about the morning. It had all started with the strange conversation with the Beast. He didn’t understand his attitude regarding the portrait. It seemed as if he was ashamed of himself, as if he loathed how he looked.

Obviously, he was very strange looking. Well, the majority of people would consider him downright terrifying. But Tim - aside from being an artist, thus curious and fascinated by almost everything - was a down-to-hearth guy, like all working class people. _Life is what it is and yes, you suffer from the blows it gives you_ (God if he knew about that!), _but in the end you just have to accept it and go on. There is not much you can do._

He had seen older people disfigured by the plague that had hit the country fifty years ago and yet they were happy to be alive. Well, if not truly happy at least serene. When life kicked you hard, you moved on. There was no sense in crying over what wasn’t or couldn’t be. And yet the Beast - who was evidently very well-off, a nobleman even though beastly in appearance, with a castle full of everything anyone might need or want - behaved as if his looks ruined his life. It made no sense to Timothée.

And then, without warning, he had tickled and kissed him. _Oh my, the kisses…_ He had been totally different then, no bad mood whatsoever. Just funny and caring and sensuous. Tim brought his fingertips to the lips, chasing the sensation of the Beast’s full lips on his. He shivered at the memory. _Am I going crazy? Fuck, I didn’t want him to stop kissing me. And yet he has. Why?_

He didn’t really know much about the Beast, Tim reckoned. Maybe he could snoop around a bit, now that he was out. Maybe even enter his bedroom (only space he hadn’t explored yet, aside from the attic - he had been advised to not go there, only broken furniture and scurrying mice to be found).

Yes, it would be nice to see if he could discover something more about the owner of the castle.

Tim went and opened quietly the door, almost tiptoeing inside. The room was bigger than his, the walls covered in tapestries in blue tones. They depicted many different scenes, all set in the forest: hunting parties, ancient ruins, animals strolling in the woods. Timothée grazed them with his fingers. They were coarse - very elegant but rough at the touch, not silky like his chinoiserie wallpaper. Everything in this room declared ‘bold and audacious’, while his bedroom conveyed ‘exquisite and graceful’. He wistfully contemplated if this was how the magical place saw both of them.

Spartacus’ cot was near the fireplace - the dog was evidently well trained to not sleep on beds, but Tim liked to let him sleep on his when the mood struck. 

The bed was huge, obviously the Beast liked to rest comfortably. The boy wondered how many Timothées would fit in there - he jumped on the bed, lied down and counted while rolling on the covers. The answer was 5. He chuckled, what a way to sleep luxuriously. He looked up at the colorful panelled ceiling. He sighed deeply at the beauty of the room and his nose caught something. He turned belly down and sniffed the pillows - there it was. The Beast’s scent, strong and enveloping. He inhaled deeply and moaned - the earthy smell going straight to his dick. Now that he was wide awake, not like the other night (he blushed at the memory of falling asleep on his chest), he discerned other notes to his fragrance: there was something strong and bitter, like patchouli. And a heavy musk note. _He sweats in here_ , he thought with a shiver at the thought of his broad chest. _Does he strokes himself lazily in the morning as well?_ Tim’s mind started to wander. He was still edgy from before and didn’t really notice when he started grinding through the mattress. Tiny slow circles at first, that become frenzied the more he inhaled his intoxicating smell. _Gosh_. He lifted his hips, rolled them, arched his back before thrusting into the covers. He was so hard - _if I keep going I’ll come in my pants._

He was pondering to take matters in his own hands when he heard the front door open. He got up, cheeks in flame, straightened the bed and fled. He was crossing the hallway to his room when he felt called.

“There you are. Come down, dinner is served already”. The Beast was looking at him from the bottom of the stairs, a quizzical look on his face.

“Sure. I’ll just wash my hands”. _Fuck._ _No time to take care of my erection._ Tim tried to will it down already, breathed deeply for a few minutes and, when he felt calm enough, descended to dine with the Beast.

———

 

The boy had behaved strangely all dinner. He looked flustered - foot tapping against the leg of the table, reddened cheeks _he hasn’t had too much wine and... is he avoiding my gaze?_ , mumbling instead of chatting as usual.

If the Beast hadn’t been scared of another possible horrible confession by Tim - the effects of their disastrous first dinner still lingering - he would have known from the start what was going on with the boy. In this instance though, he was quite at a loss. _Is he upset because I kissed him earlier? He seemed fine with it, participating in the kiss, even getting hard…_

The Beast took his hand (which was currently erecting a piramid of bread crumbs) and the boy startled at the touch. _Mmm, not a good sign._

“Is everything ok, Tim?” He leaned towards him. “You can talk to me, you know”.

As soon as his breath had tickled his ear, Timothée blushed, the Beast inhaled and understood.

“Oh, I see. Have I interrupted something by coming home earlier than you imagined?”, he smirked.

Tim blushed even more. 

“Horny much, Timothée?”, he chuckled.

Tim stood up abruptly, an angry expression on his face. He went to stand near the fireplace. “This is not fun. Stop making fun of me”.

“I’m not making fun of you, Tim”.

“Yes you are”. He groaned. “I know what you see when you look at me. Just an inexperienced boy who can’t control himself”. 

The Beast went to stand near him. “That’s not what I see when I look at you Tim”, he breathed. “Not at all”.

Tim looked at him, biting his lower lip like he always did when he was nervous.

The Beast’s eyes were piercing - he felt exposed and vulnerable under his scrutiny. 

“You know that you can ask, right?”, he said gently.

Timothée’s eyes went wide. _What is he talking about?_ If his brain wasn’t sure of the meaning of those words apparently his dick was, because his trousers were suddenly quite constricting. 

The Beast smirked and licked his lips. “Tim... what do you want?”

“I... uhm... I don’t know”.

“Then I’m afraid I cannot help you”. The Beast’s voice was soft and mesmerizing.

Timothée swallowed. He wanted to ask but didn’t exactly know how and why and what for. His gaze was focused on the floor inspecting the crevices on the grey-brown stone. Then, all of a sudden, he strode to the Beast with a single big step and looked at him straight in the eye.

“You are making things very difficult for me, boy”.

Tim smiled softly and let his head fall on the Beast’s chest. He inhaled deeply and groaned.

“Use your words, Tim. Ask me”.

“I can’t”, he blushed and pushed his head further into his chest.

“Then use your hands”, he replied, waiting for the boy to do as he wished.

Tim swallowed and bashfully brought his hands to the Beast’s waist.

He was trembling and the Beast hugged him lightly, wanting to give him the chance to get away if he wished.

“You okay?”

“Me okay”.

The Beast stroke gently his hair, lips grazing his forehead.

Tim moaned at the light touch and arched into his chest, hands reaching up to the bigger man’s neck. The Beast was tracing circles on his clothed back, fingers warm and hard rubbing his shoulderblades. Tim stood on tiptoes to nuzzle his neck and the Beast swallowed. A hand went to tilt his boy’s chin. Tim’s jade eyes were glazed, his breath hitching.

_Beautiful_ , thought the Beast. _So beautiful._

Tim opened his mouth to protest meekly when the Beast ignored his lips to kiss his neck, but when he started worrying the tender skin with his canines, he shivered and moaned, hips thrusting into the body in front of him. The Beast purred feeling how hard the boy was. He shifted his weight and pushed his knee between Tim’s legs. The friction made him moan louder. 

“Like that?”, the Beast croaked.

“Ye... yes”, he stuttered.

“Good. Then move, Tim. Ride me”. 

Timothéee blushed. He couldn’t really mean he wanted him to-, could he?

He gasped when the Beast’s hands lowered to his ass -grabbing him and positioning him flush to his body. Tim felt the Beast’s erection poking his side.

“Come on babe, chase your pleasure”.

Timothée shivered.

“Ride me, boy”. 

Tim groaned and started rubbing in earnest against the strong thigh. The Beast’s hands were gripping his ass, kneading it, encouraging Tim to thrust.

_Could I come just from this?_ , he mused in a haze.

Well, he’d been already overstimulated from their earlier kissing session and his rolling on the sheets… If he had thought amazing his smell coming from a pillow, the real deal was intoxicating. He gripped harder his neck and started to hump the Beast in a frenzy. His curls were plastered with sweat, clinging to his forehead. His tongue was wetting his lips, so close to the Beast’s mouth. Maybe the lack of oxygen he felt was because they were sharing the same air? He mewled his pleasure as he chased his orgasm. God, he was so close...

“Will you be a good boy for me, Tim? Will you come for me?”

Tim whimpered as his breathing became erratic.

The Beast nipped at his lips, tongue licking his jaw before going to his neck again. 

“Come now, Tim. Come for me”, he growled while swiping his thumb on the nearest nipple and sucking the hollow of his throat.

Tim came with a strangled cry, wet come dirtying his breeches while he clutched the Beast’s chest as he rode his pleasure.

“I got you, Tim. You are so perfect, so beautiful”.

Timothée beamed at his words, his ashamed blush leaving way to a happy giggle.

“That was... that was...”

“Intense?”

“Yeah”, he breathed.

The Beast looked at him. “Thank you for trusting me with this, Tim”. 

“I, uhm...” and the Beast’s lips were on his. A sweet peck at first that made Tim melt in his arms. Then the kiss became bolder - thick tongue demanding entrance. The boy found himself breathlessly sucking on it, his whole body trying to climb the Beast like a monkey would a tree. He felt the Beast was on the edge, needy as he had been a few minutes before. Tim was exhausted by all the feelings, but didn’t want to let him go. He unwillingly yawned.

The Beast chuckled and lifted the boy, whose legs went to encircle his waist, pressing his erection in the most delicious way. He climbed the stairs, carrying Tim, and putting him down only when they reached his bedroom. 

“Are you feeling ok?”, he asked.

“Yes”.

“You sure?” The way his eyes were glazed with pleasure made the Beast wonder if it had all been too much or just perfect.

“Yes. Just sleepy”.

The Beast caressed his neck, foreheads touching and kissed him sweetly on the lips.

“Then go sleep. Sweet dreams, Timothée”.

The boy blushed and closed the door behind him. He wished he had the words to ask him to stay but he was too worn-out.

~

 

The Beast felt a sort of bitter-sweet relief at having the chance of being alone in his room. He had his raging boner to attend to and he didn’t think Timothée was ready for that. He didn’t complain - the day had been perfect. Kissing him and holding him and making him come had been more than he could ever had imagined. What he didn’t expect was the fragrance that engulfed him as soon as he entered his room, especially after he touched the sheets. _The little shit,_ he thought smiling. _What has he been doing in my bed?_

He moaned in pleasure. Timothée citrusy floral smell was everywhere - he stroked himself furiously, coming sooner than he had wished.

“Fuck, Tim, you’ll be the death of me”, he said before falling asleep with a big grin on his lips.


	18. Agenda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How will life be at the castle, now that things have gotten more intimate between Beast and Timothée?   
> Will they spend their days together or go back to their lonely ways?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Beast’s horse is a Friesian, a muscular animal with black coat, thick mane and wavy tail. The Friesian horse is powerful, elegant and energetic - its size enables him to carry a knight in armour (so, no problems with the Beast’s strong built!)
> 
> PS Agenda in latin means ‘things which ought to be done’, while Sombre means ‘dark’ or ‘gloomy’ in French.

 

Early in the morning, Timothée had woken up and quickly gotten embarassed reminiscing the previous night. He was not regretful of what he had done, but wondered if meeting the Beast would be awkward.

_Gosh, I hope he won’t try to make fun of me_ , he groaned. _Impossible Beast! Always so self-assured. Aarrgh._ Just thinking about him released a bunch of fluttering butterflies in his stomach.

He was scrubbing his face, trying to wake up already, when he heard a horse neighing, followed by barking and a big crash. He ran to the balcony and there it was – a magnificent Friesian, beautifully saddled and bridled, who was trying to escape the clutch of the Beast. Spartacus’ growling was not helping. He got dressed quickly and ran downstairs. The Beast was struggling to deal with the dominant horse, a tense snicker on his face.

“Fuck, Sombre! Calm the fuck down”. The Beast had jumped on the Friesian’s back and was trying to lead him, but the horse was not having it.

Timothée didn’t know much of horses, but wondered how that would even work, a Beast riding a horse. And when had it arrived? Why hadn’t he seen it before? He called Spartacus and held him out of the way. The dog protested at first, but then accepted to sit at Timothée’s feet, observing the scene.

In that moment, the Beast noticed him and grinned. He was enjoying the challenge and having Tim as a viewer made things way more interesting.

“Bonjour, did you sleep well?, he asked.

Timothée knew instantly that he was trying to embarass him - he was sure Tim’s cheeks would get rosy in a second. _No way_ , he thought. _Not this time._

“Very well, actually. When I went to bed I was feeling quite relaxed”, he answered with a smile on his lips.

The Beast’s brows furrowed - _fuck, is he mad at me? Maybe because I, well, came and left him… oh fuck, what do I say now-_ before he let out a chuckle.

“But of course, Tim” he retorted, bringing the disobedient horse to a slow trot. “Some creatures need a firm hand to be happy, even if they resent it at first, and I’m glad I can provide that”.

Timothée lowered his head and scratched his neck. _Fuck, I’m rubbish at this game._ Blushing, he looked at a grinning Beast and asked: “Breakfast?”

“You start. I still got work to do”.

As soon as Tim left with a wagging Spartacus at his heels – _that boy has to stop feeding him delicacies or he will get too lazy to hunt_ – the Beast turned to the matter at hand.

_What the fuck? How come Sombre is here?!_

He hadn’t seen his horse since the beginning of his ordeal and he was sure the animal had been in the stables, frozen in time like everyone else on the property. _What does this mean? Maybe the damned witch is tiring of her game? Is she starting to lift the magic from this place?_

The Beast pondered and that made it more difficult to focus on Sombre. He understood the skittish equine - he hadn’t been properly trained back then (it was a recent aquisition when magic had erased his previous life) and now he came back to existence to find his rider turned into a Beast. The horse’s instincts were all for flight (he had a liony creature on his back, after all) and of course he didn’t trust the Beast as a leader of his herd. He was testing him, to see what he could get away with.

_Sorry, buddy,_ he thought. _As a Beast I have no real need for you, but maybe Tim would like to ride._

He had to establish leadership and he had to do it quickly if he wanted the boy to be able to mount the recalcitrant horse. _Wait a minute_ , he thought. _Tim_. He hadn’t considered that before… _Is this happening because of him? Could some of what the witch said be true, after all? Is he changing this place?_ _My life?_

He looked at the statues dotting the inner courtyard. _No changes. Wonder what this means…_

 

~

 

The Beast growled, claws extending instinctively towards the horse.

“Please, don’t”, pleaded Timothée. “It’s not his fault”.

“He threw you on the ground! You could have killed yourself!”

“It’s all my fault! Don’t punish him for my stupidity, I beg you”.

“You could have been badly hurt-”.

“No, no, I just slid off the saddle. Please!”

The Beast breathed heavily. “I cannot lose you”. He hated how trembling his voice was. _I just cannot._ _Not now. “_ Fuck, Tim. I-”

“I was an idiot! I am not accustomed at riding for quite some time. My knee hurt and I had the stupid idea to take my feet out of the stirrup. I flexed my leg repeatedly just outside his field of vision. And you know he was already nervous”.

Tim struggled to talk quickly enough, seeing that the Beast was approaching the horse with a vicious glint in his eyes. He grabbed his embroidered coat. “I scared him and he just swerved. Poor thing! I promise, he didn’t throw me off. I was unbalanced and just slid off the saddle!”

The Beast swallowed. “That was quite a stupid thing to do”. He was holding the boy tight, caressing his curls. “I’ll never let you go. Never again. You won’t hurt yourself anymore”.

Tim chuckled. “Don’t be silly! I just bruised my pride. And my ass”. The way the Beast inhaled sharply made him shiver.

“Hey, by the way, I’d like to breathe, you know. You are crushing me”. He huffed, the Beast holding him tighter than before. “Come on! Breathing seems quite fundamental for living”.

He let him go. “Are you mocking me, boy? Should I just put you over my knee?”

Tim blushed, the Beast smirked. _His boy._ He really wished he could explore better those reactions he had. _Maybe in time…_

“Très bien, Timothée”, he relented. “No grilled horse with a shallot sauce, for now”. The Beast looked at his horse and wondered, once again, how on earth could he possibly be there, grazing his fields.

 

~

 

“I’m serious. I want you to teach me”. Tim’s expression was very focused. “I want you to teach me everything”.

The Beast was wide-eyed with astonishment.

“I mean it. Teach me how to ride your horse. He’s a stallion, not a common gelding - I need to learn how to do it correctly! I want to know how to be a good rider”. The boy was on a roll now - hands moving quickly, helping him try to convey everything he needed.

The Beast loved the passion he was showing.

“I cannot pass all my days as a scholar, in the library or painting”.

“I thought you liked it”.

“Oh, I do, very much!”, Tim groaned. “That’s the problem”.

“I don’t understand you, I’m afraid”.

“Teach me how to fight, how to defend myself. I’m not afraid to take a punch - I don’t want to feel weak anymore. I don’t want to feel useless!”

“You are anything but useless Timothée. You are an excellent artist, a decent baker (that wording - meant to lighten the mood - granted the Beast an eye-roll, a slight smile and a shove, in that order). But most of all you are a gentle friend. You are everything I will never be”. He caressed his sharp jawline. “You are not weak. Your strength is so evident to me! Please don’t doubt it, Tim, ever!”

“Why are you so caring?” Timothée was looking at him, tilted head and furrowed brows.

“You deserve it”, he croaked. _You deserve so much more than what I can give you._

“Then, teach me. I want to be better. I want to be more”.

The Beast nodded. _He’s so young, of course he’s not ready to settle for domestic life. He has fire in him. He’d probably want to travel, go on adventures, see the world._ He hugged him again, wondering why on earth this boy could make him feel so vulnerable. _I cannot give you that, Tim, I cannot show myself around, I-_

“Of course, Timothée”, he decided. “I promise I’ll teach you everything I know. How to ride, to fight, to dance-”

At that, Tim giggled.

“What? Do you already know how?”

“Well, I’m quite adept at quadrille if I say so myself”. Timothée was plucking at his sleeve, feigning indifference.

“Oh, I see, very useful for country dances at the fêtes du village. But how about courante or minuet? They are much more suitable at court”.

The boy shrugged. “And why would I want to learn that?”

“Because a real gentleman always knows how to behave elegantly”, the Beast was shaking his head. _Kids these days._ “And you never know, right? It might be useful sooner or later. I told you I’d teach you everything I know, so… brace yourself garçon. This winter will be full of schooling!

Tim chuckled. “I can’t wait to see you dance”.

His “Don’t be a brat, boy” came out way less intimidating since he was grinning ear to ear.

The Beast was happy. More reasons to spend time together? He was fine with that! _I hope that includes some more horizontal activity as well. After all, he was the one who said ‘teach me everything’… If you only knew what I’d like to do to you, Tim. Oh, I have so many things I could teach you..._ His cock was already hardening at the thought. _Gosh, silly Beast, don’t go there. Focus on this moment._

“Let’s start now”, he said, breathing deeply to calm himself down. “Can you see how the horse is frightened now that we are nearing? His ears are pinned back tightly. He knows you fell and he is expecting punishment. He’s a stallion and has not been properly trained – he may be preparing to lash out with a kick or bite. Keep your energy quiet, you have to remain grounded-”

Timothée nodded and followed his instructions, focusing attentively on the task ahead. He could do this. He knew he could. _This was going to be a good winter after all. In more ways than one._


	19. Carpe Noctem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title means ‘seize the night’ in Latin A.K.A. if it’s still dark outside… stay in bed and enjoy! ;-)
> 
> PS Chapter dedicated to sweet peaches_at_midnight who was waiting for it ;-)

“Tim”. A hand shook lightly his shoulder.

“Timothée, wake up”, repeated the annoying voice.

“Nnngghh”, he answered, burrowing deeply into the blankets.

“Come on, it’s time. We have so much to do today!”

“Nooooo”. He huffed and shifted, turning his back to the irritating presence intent at waking him up.

“It’s already 4,30 in the morning!”

“Whaaat? It’s still dark and cold outside”, he whimpered, elbowing at the aggravating Beast who was tugging at the sheets, trying to undo the warm cocoon of bliss he had built around himself.

“Alors! Get up, you are already awake!”

“That’s because you are disturbing my pleasant sleep”, he tried to grab the sheets back.

“Don’t be childish. You know we have a strict schedule! Running, first thing in the morning to build stamina and strength, then latin (after a light breakfast), we have to improve your basic notions, do you even know where my dog’s name comes from?”

Timothée snorted – everyone knew the story of the brave slave who became a hero fighting against Rome.

“Following that, sword fighting and manners, not only how to enter a room or how to greet, but the mastery of appropriate forms of polite discourse, am I clear? Then music and geography and mathematics and we have to better your horse-riding, obviously, and I was thinking that you could choose between Italian and German as a foreign language and-”

“Tyrant! You are a tyrant!”, he shouted, now fully awake. “A despot! A dictator! You are worse than Herod and Caesar and Eustache Latude”.

“Who?”

“When I was a child, he threw me out of the carousel and stole my money. Said I was to small to play with the older boys. That asshole”, Tim growled.

The Beast chuckled, trying his best not to cry laughing. _I like your hot temper, boy. Makes me want to tie you up and whip your sweet ass. That or kiss you senseless._

“Please”, complained Tim. “You’ve been killing me in the past two weeks”.

“Stop whining and be a man about it!”

Timothée knew he meant it lightly, possibly in his own self-deprecating manner, but the sentiment irritated him beyond words. _Maybe I shouldn’t retort… I should just show him!_ His instincts kicked in _hey, all this training might work after all_ \- he positioned his right feet at the center of the hovering Beast’s chest, grabbed his shoulders and flipped him hard, making him land on his back, almost falling over from the bed, with a big ‘oof’.

“What the fuck has just happened?”

“I kicked your ass”, Tim muttered. “See? I learned something after all”. He grabbed sheets and blankets back and promptly burrowed like a mole in a potato field.

The Beast laughed. He hadn’t been expecting Tim’s attack. Oh well, the element of surprise was a great asset (he had taught him that) in ground fighting or any other kind of confrontation. He just hadn’t imagined being on the receiving end of his training.

He crawled to the end of the bed, taking in Tim’s cocooned shape. An idea came to mind - after all his student had been progressing, he might as well get rewarded…

He peeled delicately the sheets from his feet and, before the boy had a chance to protest for the cold air, started to nibble on his toes. Almost got a kick in the face, for he had surprised him – he resolved then to keep clear of tickling territory. He didn’t care for a pillow fight ending in a laughing fit, after all. The adrenaline pump of the almost fall had made the Beast quite horny. This morning he meant business.

 _I’m tired of beating around the bush_ , he thought. _The boy has it coming._

_____

 

The Beast sucked on his big toe, who was currently wriggling for escape. He then proceeded to lick from its tip to the side of his entire feet, along his arch and on to the back of his ankle. When he bit slightly harder, the giggling _finally_ turned into panting.

He went higher, tracing his calf with his tongue – the boy was a bit hairy there, soft brown hairs went from his bony knee to the top of his ankle. He nuzzled them, rejoicing at the feeling. The lion in him purred at the smell that was starting to come from Tim’s body. His groin, to be exact – musky and sweet. He smelt positively edible.

The Beast untied the laces at the hem of the knee-high breeches. After lifting higher the soft linen, he flipped Tim and proceeded to bite the soft skin at the back of his knee. The moan that followed went straight to his dick. The lion in him wanted to tear off his underwear already and bury himself to the hilt between his sweet cheeks. He breathed deeply to calm himself and decided there and then it was better to keep them on, at least for now. His hands went to the chemise and tugged – Tim tried to raise his head, but apparently the effort was too much.

 _Oh, well_ , thought the Beast, _who cares_. Sharp claws ripped the offending garment in a second, the sound raising goosebumps all over his boy’s skin. The whole expanse of his creamy back was now visible. _Lovely, just lovely_. He retracted his claws to a safe length – defining them as harmless would have been a stretch but... he knew how to touch without risking to hurt him.

The Beast liked a bit of pain in sex, it made things way spicier in his opinion, but since Tim entered his life he had found himself a bit puzzled. His only focus was on pleasuring the boy – he wanted to smell him, caress him and make him come. _Fuck_ , he had even cuddled him. Had that ever happened before? No way! Sure, at times he had awakened in the morning near to a stranger’s body - sometimes more than one body, to be honest - but only because they had fallen asleep after a night of drinking and fucking. And not, _oh so not_ , in his bed. He had never allowed sleeping in or cuddling or any sentimental nonsense and yet…

With Tim he only wanted to give. His own pleasure came just from seeing him squirm, blush, bite his lips _mine, those lips are mine_ , or tremble like he was doing now that he was raking his nails on his heated skin, tracing circles that threatened to extend to the side of his nipples, currently pressing on the cool sheets under him.

When the Beast’s hands got to his lower back, though, Timothée stiffened.

 _Fuck_ , he exhaled. _Horrid Chalamet Father, I should have ripped your throat when I had the chance!_ He traced the scars, now fainted but still very much visible, with the pad of his fingers. They were too old for hurting Tim, at least physically and yet they did, on a whole different level. Prompted by a tender impulse, he kissed them repeatedly, wondering how could a father hurt his only son - way younger, a child back then - in such a cruel way. And yet he knew exactly how that worked. One difference - in his case, it would be his tutor the one with the heavy belt. The former Marquis wouldn’t dirty his hands with such minutiae. _Rotten fathers they had._

He sighed and wondered if a day would come in which Timothée had enough trust in him to let him show him the ropes of a very different kind of discipline. One steeped in open communication, clear boundaries and, most of all, pleasure. One that had nothing to do with abuse. He wondered if, with his grating selfishness, he would be able to truly be what Tim needed. One thing he was grateful for – that although he had been a selfish prick in his past existence, he had had sufficient pride as to want to learn how to be a great lover.

When he was younger, he hadn’t really cared about his partners’ pleasure but he still remembered, cheeks flushing with shame at the memory, even after many years, when he had overhead a boy he had fucked in the stables commenting to a friend how ‘the Marquis had a nice cock but no idea on how to use it’. The boys had cackled and proceeded to fuck on the dirty straw and he had felt embarassment and rage and desire (when he heard the moans his cheap fuck had been making in the arms of another and not in his). That had been a crucial turning point and-.

 _Fuck, what am I doing? Focus, Beast!_ He flipped Tim on his back and went straight for his jugular, knowing by now that his thin freckled neck was his Achilles' heel. He wanted to erase any sad thought from his mind. _Stay here, Tim. Stay with me._

When he heard him hiss and buckle against his pelvis, he knew he had him back.

“Tim”, he breathed. “You okay?”

Tim nodded, lashes sporting a few unshed tears. He kissed them, tasting their salty flavour _begone horrid memories from the past_ before turning his attention to his chest. God, he could cover its span with his two hands.

His fingers trailed to his nipple, without touching it - his breath ghosted on his pebbled skin, while he was trying to decide whether to lick, twist or bite it. Tim’s hitched breath made him reconsider. _So responsive!_ He didn’t want this to end too quickly, not without having tasted him. He settled on grazing the nipple with the pad of his index. _God_ , the sounds his boy made were too much. He had to put some distance between their bodies, so he sat on his heels, contemplating him. Some wetness had pooled at the front of his breeches and he licked his lips. _Oh yes. Hell yes._

“Have you ever been given a blowjob, Tim?”, he asked, knowing very well the answer was no. Tim might have kissed somebody or fooled around a bit, but he was sure he hadn’t done anything more. The sharp gasp at his question was answer enough.

The Beast traced lightly his dick through the linen, feeling how hard it was becoming under his ministrations. The pad of his thumb was swiping over the crown with a lazy circular movement that was making Tim’s hips arch beautifully.

“Would you like that, Tim?”, he purred. “Would you like me to suck you till you come filling my mouth?”

Tim’s strangled cry echoed in the silent room.

“I’ll take that as a yes”.

He slashed Tim’s breeches either side of his hard dick, freeing only a relatively small area. His lion growled angrily – he wanted to lick him everywhere, to rim him at least, if no real fucking was in order. _Patience, be reasonable,_ the Beast chastised him(self). Tim was watching, tilted head, heart in his throat and a deep aching for something, anything to happen. He tried to reach down, only to have his hand swatted away.

“I don’t think so, boy”, the Beast said, before lowering his mouth to Timothée’s dick. He willed his fangs to retract, _fuck,_ they had elongated at the first taste of the boy’s precome. He knew they meant no harm, they were just reacting to what was happening, but the last thing he wanted was to scare Tim away with his lethal canines. He focused on the boy, the weight of his dick on the tongue, his smoky musky flavour, the way his balls were tightening, and above all, his muffled cries of pleasure _why, oh why, does he have to bite his arm to lower the volume of his gorgeous sounds? We’ll have to change that in the future!_

It took only a few minutes and Tim was grabbing his mane, thighs shaking as he filled his mouth with come. He was still in the throes of the aftershocks when the Beast started jerking off, towering over him.

The former handsome Marquis didn’t care if he came too quickly, as the boy himself had done. _Fuck_ , he had been waiting for this moment for so long. The moment in which he could be not only a spectator of the boy’s pleasure (like when he had caught him masturbating and had licked him clean afterwards) or a prop for his enjoyment (like that time after dinner, when he had rutted against his leg). It had been fun and he was willing to be Tim’s support or whatever he needed any time he wanted but…

This, this was too good. They, together. _Finally_. He knew he’d been the one to initiate it, he knew Tim was probably still insecure about all of this – the Beast was willing to take things slow – but, _fuck_ , today, today was glorious. As the beginnings of an orgasm started to build, he felt something sliding on his leg. He opened his eyes to see Tim’s long fingers grazing him, a shy touch at first, getting bolder. When their hands bumped – Tim’s nails were first raking the back of his knee and then coming up towards his crotch when he hit against his fist who was angrily jerking himself – a jolt of something scorching hot passed through them.

With a strained gasp the Beast came, painting Tim’s face, neck and chest. Tim’s mouth made this perfect ‘o’ of surprise, that in another less sated moment would have made the Beast think of choking him with his cock. As things were, he just stood there, trying not to collapse on the slender boy’s body.

It was in that precise moment that lion, Marquis and Beast acted as one. Smirking, they were in synchrony, for once. The Beast cleaned his hand on Tim’s belly, massaging his come into his skin. He then did the same with neck, nipples, sides, hips.

“You are not washing yourself today, Tim”. His voice was deep and hypnotic. “I want you to smell of me all day”.

Tim whimpered at the words, licking his lips.

“Would you like a taste, Tim?” His eyes opened wide. “Have you ever tasted someone?” He shook his head. “Yourself?” He blushed. _Oh, Tim._

The Beast took the tiny glob of come that had landed on Tim’s cheek and brought it to his lips.

“Open your mouth, Tim”. Reddened cheeks, he closed his eyes and extended his tongue.

He smiled. “Open your eyes, boy. I want to see you”.

“Please”, he whimpered.

“Hey, there are no obligations here, Tim”. He was pulling back his hand, when Tim grabbed his wrist and licked the come from his fingers, making him gasp.

_What were they doing?_

Tim smiled shily. “You taste good. Slightly bitter, but good”.

“Tim”, he exhaled for nth time in the last hour. “Come here”.

He jumped into his arms and nuzzled his neck.

“You are going to smell of come as well”. “I’m not squeamish. And, by the way, it’s mine. It’s only fair”.

Tim chuckled and the Beast kissed his forehead. The frenzy was gone but he still wanted to touch him, keep him close.

“Here, Tim, lie down a bit”.

He laughed. “Now that I’m finally awake, you want to sleep?”

“Shut up, boy. When you’ll be older, you’ll need a bit of rest after an amorous congress as well”.

“Amorous congress?”, he giggled.

“Uhm, how would you call it?”

“Getting to know you better?”, he said, clear eyes gazing inside his soul.

“Of course, Tim. Of course”.


	20. Si vis amari, ama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day has just begun: a day trip is in order. The Beast wants to take Tim to his favourite place, a certain berm… It’s gorgeous even in winter ;-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title means ‘If you want to be loved, love’ in Latin
> 
> Sorry, I promised to post weekly and it's been more than that since I last updated. It's a longer chapter though, hope you enjoy it. As always, thanks for commenting. Comments are life!
> 
> And yes, at some point I had to quote directly A. A. I humbly bow to your greatness, Sir!

As the horse roamed slowly through the countryside, Timothée was deep in thought, a bemused expression on his face. _Oh zut, Bête. Je ne croyais que…_ His cheeks flushed red at the memories of earlier morning – it almost felt like a daydream. When he touched his lips, he still felt the Beast’s musky smell on his soft skin. It was a warm day - he shivered nonetheless.

The Beast was running ahead, Spartacus at his heels. They were playing some sort of hide-and-seek. Timothée chuckled at the sight of the mock-growling dog, whose extended front legs, ass in the air and tail wagging were strongly encouraging his owner to play.

When the Beast had suggested a short trip, he hadn’t been so sure. Some kind of anxiety had crept in - he now had to admit that the Beast had been right. The day was precious, one of those sunny days that even in winter make you feel spring is just around the corner. Getting out of the castle, to enjoy this passing warmth, possibly the last before snow, was the best idea ever. After all, any thought of schooling and training had gone out of the window when…  
_Fuck_. His thoughts kept turning to _him_ , the way he had touched him, kissed him, sucked him... _gosh_... he had even swallowed his come.

_People do that?!_ Timothée shivered, again.  
At that precise moment, the Beast turned and looked at him, a slight smirk on his lips.  
_Fuck. Has he started to read minds now?  
_ Tim groaned. He was getting deeply attached to his saviour _captor?_ and the idea scared and aroused him at the same time.

~

  
The Beast had been checking on Timothée since the start of the horse ride. He was distracted, unfocused, deep in thought. _Is he regretting what happened between us?,_ he mused.

He kept stealing glances at the boy, who looked ashamed. His reddened cheeks were adorable - he wanted to kiss them and make them even darker if possible. In the throes of passion, Tim’s creamy skin wore tiny splotches of red, especially on his neck, that made the Beast ache. _Beautiful_. Such a beautiful boy. _Mine_ , the deepest part of him growled. _Mine!_  
He needed to talk to Timothée, sooner or later, and he dreaded what would come out of that. For now, though, better focus on not having him killed.

“Tim”, he called, startling the boy. “Come here”.  
As he neared, the horse looked so not happy to be again in close contact with the Beast. _Silly animal, shouldn’t you at least remember something about my former self? A smell or anything? I’m no threat to your hide!_

“Tim, what the Hell are you doing?”  
“Uh?”  
“You are too unfocused. Sombre has already stumbled two times”.  
“Uhm, I thought it was the terrain?”  
“Seriously? Do you think a horse cannot walk on grass?”, he sighed. “He’s bored and that makes him distracted. It’s dangerous”.  
Tim shot him a questioning look.  
“For him, you weigh nothing, you’re like a squirrel on his back. He forgets you are even there”.  
“But...”  
“Either you ride him properly - sitting up straight and gripping thightly with your legs, not letting the reins slide or… What if he gets the idea of rolling himself in the dirt? You’d get crushed”.  
Timothée lowered his head, shoulders slumping before remembering he had just been chastised about it. “Sorry”.  
“Hey, it’s fine. You are learning. I’m just worried”. “I know. I... Never mind”.  
“Tim…”  
“No really. I’m sorry”.  
“Scoot over”, the Beast huffed as he jumped on the horse, who neighed in frustration.  
“Hold on tight”.  
“What, why?”  
The horse was sent running and Tim’s ‘wait!’ remained a garbled word in his throat.

The gallop was exhilarating – he had never tried it, the horse was too skittish and he too inexperieced, but with the Beast in charge… He started laughing while clinging for dear life to the bridles. He didn’t feel fear, just the thrill of the run. Legs instinctively hugged the horse, eyes focused ahead. When it ended, he felt light and euphoric.  
“Better now?” whispered the Beast. His warm breath raised goosebumps on his skin.  
“Oh, shut up”, Tim elbowed him. “You know this is all your fault”.

“Are you going to hold this morning against me?”, he exhaled.

Tim shifted, turning his head to look the Beast in the eye. “That’s not what I meant”, he croaked. “How could you even think I could focus on riding when you have-”.  
The Beast relaxed, smiled and kissed him behind his ear.  
“See? Stop it or else...”  
“Mmm. What are you going to do to me, Tim?” His voice was a low purr.  
“I’ll have to kick your ass again”.  
“Now I’m scared”, laughed the Beast. “Please don’t hurt me, Tim”.  
“We’ll see. Depends on your behavior”, he giggled.  
“Well, you didn’t seem to mind it earlier this morning”.  
Tim blushed. “You are truly impossible”. 

~

As soon as they got to the berm, Timothée was enthralled. A pool of water with tiny waterfall on the side, old trees sporting leaves in autumnal reds, the smell of a crisp morning… So peaceful, so beautiful. His eyes took every detail in and the Beast loved seeing him observe the space with such wonder. _He likes it here. Good._

“This is my spot. It’s all mine. I used to come here all the time when I was younger - to read, fish, collect berries, chase butterflies… You know, it’s close enough that you can come and go in the same day. But far enough that it’s secluded, my secret refuge”, confessed the Beast.

Tim smiled. “I wish I’d seen you as a child. Did the mane grow up later on or-”

The Beast shook his head with a sigh and decided it better to digress. “Weather is changing”, he sniffed the air. “This might be the last nice day before frost kicks in”.

Tim nodded.

“You should see this place in spring! Under the pine trees, the field is covered in sweet violets. A sea of purple-”.

The boy was looking at him with a soft smile on his lips.

“What?”, he asked.

“Nothing”.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

A tiny laugh. “You are such a sentimental soul!”

“What are you talking about?”

“First, your adorable childhood self comes up, now the violets. You truly are a tender soul”.

“No, I’m not”, growled the Beast.

“Yes, you are”.

“You are way mistaken. I’m a dangerous beast”.

Tim quirked up his eyebrow.

“I’m lethal and vicious. Very very dangerous”.

“Mmm. Not so sure about that”, he winked and went to sit on a tree stump. The Beast saw him look into his pockets and, with a relieved smile, produce a notebook and a pencil. He promptly started to jot down quick sketches of the place.

_He’s probably right_ , the Beast grinned. _I wouldn’t be able to scare a hatchling! When he is near, I’m a pathetic excuse for a monster._

Spartacus was prowling, head down, focused on whatever new wild smell he could find. At times he started barking furiously and digging – whatever he meant to hunt smarter than he would have preferred, judging by his frustrated whimpers.

Tim and Spartacus busy with their own favourite pastimes, the Beast decided to prepare for later. ( _Better distract yourself and stop staring at that mop of curls.)_ They surely would be getting hungry quite soon.

After collecting wood and starting a fire, he went towards the fields. No one was tilling the land and the ears of wheat were full and dry. He had no sickle with him, but his claws were very efficient cutting tools. He snorted as he remembered the harsh words of a Monsieur Auclair, who had been part of his ever-changing gaggle of tutors. “You may be a nobleman by birth, but you’ll never be a gentleman! Your behaviour is appalling - you'd be best suited for menial farm work". He was thirteen at the time and, to be fair, he had been caught at the village tavern, downing young wine with a whore on his lap, when he should have been home studying Latin declensions. His father had thought it hilarious, his mother not so much, but the tutor… well, he had left quickly muttering a ‘rutting animal’ under his breath when - as an answer to his scolding - his younger self had belched in his face. _Well, look at me,_ he chuckled, _that old toad might have had a point._

Timothée raised his head only when he smelled grilled trout. His stomach grumbled and his eyes lit up when he saw the banquet the Beast had assembled. Aside from having prepared a soft bed of hay and leaves, on which to eat comfortably, he had gone fishing. He had also brought cheese, wine and bread from home – together with linen tablecloth, napkins and crystal glasses (because, contrary to what Monsieur Auclair might think, he was a fucking gentleman!) Well, at least because he wanted to impress Timothée - who had the delicious habit of grinning happily like a child at a street fair when faced with anything remotely unusual (or that showed that someone was taking care of him). The Beast shook his head. The fact that Tim had been ignored all his life, aside from his monk friend, well… it was disheartening. How could every single man and woman of his fucking village not be in love with him? Were they all stupid or what? Fuck, if it were for him, he would spend all his time trying to make Tim happy.

Spurred by his previous remark, the Beast wondered how little Timothée might have looked like. He envisioned a curly sleepy head, tiny little fists, a scraped knee… A sweet tenderness filled his heart, a need to comfort and protect – fucking Eustache Something that had hurt his precious boy’s feelings! _Wonder if I could hunt him down and make him crap his pants…_

“Beast?” Tim’s belly grumbled again. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Sorry, I got distracted. Dig in!”, he smiled. Who knew happiness could come from a picnic with a boy - and a dog - on a sunny winter day?

 

~

Tim was looking at the Beast. He was resting on his back, eyes closed, hands under the nape of his head. He looked peaceful for once, his expression unguarded. His strong body, clothed in wool and silk, a study in contrast. Long mane of golden hair touching the dark blue of his open coat, wide chest, almost straining the linen chemise, strong thighs and long legs clad in white, dark brown boots crossed at the ankles (a position that, ahem, emphasised the outline of his cock beautifully). Timothée squirmed and took out notebook and pencil. _Focus, Tim!_ At times, a whiff of the Beast’s smell would still tickle his nose. _Just the thought of it should probably make me feel ashamed…_ but, if he was being honest, he only felt hot and bothered. _Aargh, bad Beast!_

Finally, the scratch of lead on paper distracted him, making him pay attention to his drawings. _What a great subject he is_ , he mused. _Wonder if he’d let me draw him if he saw me…_ The Beast had in fact fallen asleep. But he looked worried _is he dreaming?_ and Tim felt drawn to smooth his furrowed brow. He extended his fingers, but took them back, without touching him. He went to his side, laid down and gently rested his head on the Beast’s chest - his heart beating like a strong drum under his ear.

“Are you cold?”, a sleepy voice asked, while covering him with the cloak.

Tim exhaled. "I love this, Beast."

"What?"

"Everything."

"Us, you mean?"

“Uhm, it’s not bad. Not bad”, he smiled. “Thank you for bringing me here”.

“You are welcome, Timothée”, he whispered. _You are very welcome._

The Beast felt a sense of slight nervousness coming from the boy, so he turned to look at him. He saw a soft question in the green eyes.

“Uhm, can I… I mean… could I… fuck”, Tim exclaimed as he sat up, crossing his legs. “Can I look at you? I mean, really look at you?”, he blushed. “I mean-”

“How do you want me?”, whispered the Beast.

Stunned, Tim bit his lower lip before reaching out to the Beast’s neck. “Let me?”, he asked, untying the collar of his chemise.

The Beast just nodded. _Whatever you want, Tim. However you want it._ His breath hitched when the fingers got to his breeches. He looked at Tim, at his shy but determined expression, and shifted his hips to let him explore as he wished.

A gentle breeze was caressing his skin – he rarely felt cold since becoming a beast, so being naked on a winter day was a non issue. But getting undressed by Timothée, well… that was a whole different thing. He found himself shivering under his gaze.

_Fuck._

As Tim sat on his heels, head tilted, observing what he had done, he saw something move out of the corner of his eye.

He giggled. “Seriously, Beast?” His tail had winded itself around Tim’s wrist.

He laughed. “Sorry, boy, it has a mind of its own”.

“How come I never see it?”, he asked.

“It just stays coiled at the end of my back, you know. It’s more practical this way. When I’m dressed, I mean. But like my canines and jaws… it enjoys to come out, when I care to free it”, he said with a shrug.

Tim was touching it, feeling the dark, hairier tip with his fingers. He startled a bit when the tail uncurled itself from the wrist and started caressing his cheek.

“Well. This is definitely bizarre”.

“Only this?”, the Beast giggled. “Well, Tim, you react to my appearance better than anyone I know”. _Even myself, I should add._

“You truly are something else, you know that, right?”, Tim quipped.

“I could say the same of you”, he retorted.

The touch of Timothée’s fingertips on his cheek startled the Beast, although he had seen him approaching. He closed his eyes to savour it, worried that the hunger that was starting to build in his loins would spook him away. _Get a grip, Beast, come on. You always react to him like a horny boy_.

“Your skin is soft…”, Tim commented slightly surprised. “Well, fuzzy but soft like… a peach, I’d say”.

The Beast swallowed. He had thought kissing Timothée and making him come were the best things to ever happen in his life, but… Tim’s touch on his skin was everything he didn’t know he needed.

“Well, at least here”, Tim continued. His hands lowered to his jaw and the top of his chest. “Here is definitely thicker, coarse… Makes me want to rub my face on it”, he confessed with a whisper.

The Beast purred. “Fuck, Tim”.

The boy blushed – the cock in front of him was visibly thickening at the sound of his words. He wished he could smirk at the sight of it but… Hell, no… there was nothing to laugh about. His throat tightened. He knew how men could be with one another but… _there’s no way ‘that’ would fit anywhere in me_ , he sighed. _God, it’s just so… so…_ He groaned, arousal mixed with fear and something else.

_Is it anticipation?_ , mused the Beast, whose insticts were very much tuned to any of Timothèe’s emotions. And there were so many cursing through his veins.

“It won’t bite, you know?”, he teased, to lessen the tension.

A snort. “Well, that’s easy for you to say. What do I know?”

“Hey, I’m no freak with a biting dick”, he growled.

“You are big, though”.

“Yeah, but it’s usually a plus”, he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Oh, shut up”, Tim said as he grabbed it.

_Fuck._

“See, I can’t even close my hand around it. You are indeed a freak”.

“Ti- Tim”, he breathed. “What are you-?”

“Getting to know you better?”

“So, is this the mood of today?, he choked.

“Apparently”, Tim answered, still stroking his ridged length.

“You don’t- You don’t have to do this, you know, right? I don’t expect you to-”

“I said ‘shut up’, please”, and he swiped his finger on the tip, reveling in the hiss that followed.

His tail was slowly waving side to side, like a cat’s when it’s focused and ready to pounce on some kind of prey, even just a ball of string. _Will you pounce on me, Beast?_ , he mused. Tim looked at him, at his eyes - slits of dark blue, so much darker than usual - and a thought crossed his mind. He sped up his movements and with his free hand he caressed the length of the tail. He was rewarded by a low groan that, if he was being honest, got straight to his dick. _Focus, Tim, this is not for you. This is all his._ He swallowed and kept going, Beast’s hips straining to not jerk at every stroke of his hand. On an inspiration, Tim let a trickle of saliva fell on that gorgeous engorged cock and heard the Beast wail.

“Tim, Tim, Tim”. He was chanting his name as a litany. Timothée had never felt more powerful - to know that he could reduce someone so strong and powerful to putty in his hand was a heady sensation. _God_. He looked at him, quickened his motions and bit on the tip of his tail. The Beast roared loudly as he came, thick cords of come filling his hand. Tim gasped at the powerful sound - he might have even seen some forest animal run for its life.

_God, Tim_. His body was shaking in the aftermath of his pleasure. _What? How? Why? No, fuck the why! More, please, more._

Tim let himself fall on the bed of hay and leaves and sighed before he adjusted himself. At least he hadn’t come in his pants. He palmed his crotch to calm down.

Eventually, the Beast’s panting came to a halt. “God, Timothée what came upon you?”

He shily bit his lips. “Don’t know. It’s this place I guess”.

“This place?”

“It’s just so beautiful, so peaceful. Yes, peaceful”.

“Ok, we are moving here”, nodded the Beast. “As in. Right. Now. I can build some kind of wooden shelter in ten minutes. Don’t worry, I’ll keep you warm”.

Tim chuckled before looking at him all serious. “You know what I mean”. _You know I needed this, a place to just be, a place to relax and not think. A place where we could experience full comradeship, aside from what we were before, from what we will be in the future. A place where I could draw and breathe. With you at my side._

The Beast traced his ivory cheek, tugged at a rebel curl. “I know what you mean”, he sighed. _At home it’s different. You feel at ease now, you like the studio, the library, your bedroom… but it’s still the place where you’ve been sick, where you learned of your father’s betrayal,_ he wanted to say. _Where you discovered how messed up I am. Here, we are just two living beings. Happy under the winter sky. Me, you, together._

“Come on, we better go now. It’s getting colder, I don’t want you to get sick.”

Tim nodded and nuzzled his chest. “Just give me a minute”.


	21. Hic et nunc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick snippet of fluffy home life for the boys.  
> Next chapter, though… it’s Christmastime! A surprise awaits Tim. 
> 
> Thanks again for following along!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title means ‘Here and now’ in Latin.
> 
> The book Tim is reading is a real book, published in 1714. While it was basically a typical Utopia of the times (read: possibly boring af!) “it did, however, include ‘living fossils’, giant birds and strange flora that survived from prehistoric eras, arguably making it one of the first modern Lost World novels”. I mean, move over Jurassic Park! (source: Wikipedia)

 

Timothée smiled.

‘Someone’ was softly snoring behind him, warm breath tickling his ear, strong arm across his stomach. The boy reveled in the snug embrace that was enveloping him.

He sighed, breath forming a tiny wisp of cold. Daylight was filtering through the curtains. His brain, slowly awakening, provided some valid food for thought. _Cold room. Warm embrace. Stay in bed._

He stirred, though, and the muscular arm clutched him tighter. He knew there was nothing to be afraid of. _It’s ‘just him’._ When had he become such a comforting presence, someone who made him feel safe and cherished?

He smiled again, as he remembered the night before. He had been wanting to finish reading _Voyages et Aventures de Jacques Massé_ – he was so fascinated by the book. How would he love to travel to a land where giant creatures from prehistoric times still exhisted! He knew it was fiction, but one of the best he had read.

The Beast, who had entered his room to say goodnight, had rolled his eyes. “Such bullshit”, he had quipped. “You’ll ruin your sight if you keep reading so late at night. And for such nonsense”.

Timothée had giggled. “Why so grumpy, Beast? Come here, let me read you this part”.

He had then gotten into Tim’s bed, hugged him back to chest, chin resting on his shoulder as the boy told of Jacques embarking on a ship à la recherche d'aventures. They had spent the night like that – Timothée thumbing through his book, the Beast absentmindedly stroking his curls.

Such tenderness had made him feel butterflies in his stomach and, when he had turned to look at the Beast, the blue eyes told him he was feeling the same.

 

~

 

 _We must have fallen asleep at some point_ , Tim mused.

He stretched - his sweet thoughts chased away by a need to pee that was definitely waking him up. He groaned. He was trying to decide if he was ready to brave the cold - wondering why the fireplace wasn’t working by now (it usually magically started when he woke up) - but the Beast held him tight nuzzling his neck and moaning. And then he felt it, a thick rod pressing against his ass. And another moan.

 _So, morning wood is a thing for Beast as well,_ Tim thought.

“Hey, you”, he giggled. “Slept good?”

“Nngghh”, was the answer, accompanied by a soft thrust of the hips that almost made Tim whimper.

“Stop”, he said. “Need the bathroom, now”.

The Beast looked at him and smirked. He yawned and rolled his shoulders. He then arched his back, stretching his arms, before starting to stroke lazily his erection through the breeches.

Timothée couldn’t not watch. And blush.

“We fell asleep”, the Beast murmured, looking around, apparently surprised to find himself in Tim’s bed.

“Uhm, yeah. Toilet”, he indicated shily.

With a roll of his eyes _seriously Tim? what’s the problem with me hearing you piss?,_ the Beast stood up to leave, followed by Spartacus. “I’ll see you at breakfast”, he winked. Tim followed him with his gaze and saw the Beast enter his room.

After a while, he heard the sound of water flowing, squirmed and ran to the toilet. But with the thoughts crossing his mind peeing became quite difficult. If the Beast was showering, did it mean that he was taking care of his erection as well?

 _Gosh, what have I become?,_ he blushed. Timothée had seen his share of dicks, big and small, thick and thin. Summer bathing at the river, with the village boys after wheat harvest, had a way of taking away shyness around body parts. This time, though, everything felt different. A kind of yearning had taken him, and didn’t want to let go. With a sigh, he gave in, touching himself and coming quickly before descending for breakfast.


	22. Dum spiro, spero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is nearing and Timothée is a bit sad. What would cheer him up? The Beast tries his best to make his boy happy…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, yes, Luca had to show up, didn’t he? ;-) Anyone guessed that about sweet Abbé Jacques? Let me know…
> 
> Title means ‘while I breathe, I hope’ in Latin 
> 
> PS Vespers are the evening prayers, recited at the end of a day's work, to offer it to God.
> 
> BTW I won’t be historically accurate (at all) regarding Christmas preparations, decorations and such. I try when possible but, hey, it’s fic ;-)

 

“I truly don’t understand, Timothée. Why are you so upset?”

“Why am I upset?!”, he cried in frustration. “In five days it’ll be Christmas!”

“So?”, the Beast shrugged his shoulders.

“I lost track of the time and now it’s late for any kind of Advent preparation – the wreath with the candles, the baked goods, the decorations… le crèche! Aren’t we setting up the Nativity scene?” Tim was staring at him with eyes like saucers, looking like a child who had been robbed of his favourite toy.

“Well, how should I have known! You never seemed into ‘Church stuff’ before!”

“But… It’s Christmas!”, he groaned. “Christmas! It only comes once a year and with all that’s been happening I just didn’t notice-”

“Oh, you mean being snowed in for almost two weeks with not much to do except from-”, the Beast grinned and got close to the boy, going for a kiss to his neck.

He was so happy for how far they had gone, well not as far as he wished, but he had no rush whatsoever; he had decided early on to let Timothée set the pace between them, whatever the boy wanted to give was such an unexpected miracle. But now Tim wasn’t having it - he dodged him and kept gesticulating quickly. _Italian blood showing_ , thought the Beast.

“How can you not be affected at all?”, Tim was mewling. “What kind of a freak are you?” _Fuck._ “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

The Beast laughed. “Hey, calm down, Tim. I know what you meant”.

He hugged the boy and felt him huff against his chest. “Care to tell me what’s really going on?”

Timothée shook his head, not raising his eyes.

“Tim?”

“I thought… if we went to midnight mass I could see Abbé Jacques”, he whispered. “I know, it’s silly. Just forget it”.

The Beast froze. “It’s not silly, Timothée. It’s preposterous and unreasonable and makes no sense whatsoever. What gave you the idea that-” _What the Hell?,_ he groaned. _Is he really thinking we should go to the village? Just like that?_

“Seriously Tim, I don’t understand what came over you. This is ludicrous!”

“Hey, don’t get mad at me”. His shoulders slumped. “I just miss my friend”, he croaked.

 _I have to get out of here_ , the Beast thought. _Now._ He left a forlorn Tim hugging himself.

 

~

 

 _This_. This was what the Beast always feared. The desire for Tim to be elsewhere, far from him, in someone else’s company.

 _Why should this happen now…_ He groaned, head in his hands. The sad look on Tim’s face was heartwrenching. He just couldn’t see him like this. He had to find a way to cheer him up, to appease him. But what could he do? He ran away, hoping an idea came to mind.

 

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

 

The Beast stealthily entered the priory just after vespers. Knowing how to keep himself hidden, he crept downstairs, moving through the shadows of the cloister, looking for Abbé Jacques. When he saw him enter the library, he followed and perceived his back stiffen.

“Who’s there?”, the monk asked, turning to face him.

The Beast stepped out of the dark, cloak on.

“It’s you. I wondered if I would meet you again. Will you show me your face this time?”

“As you wish”, said the Beast, removing his coverings.

 _Well, he’s stronger than I’d have imagined,_ he mused. _He’s not screamed or fainted yet._

Abbé Jacques was looking at him, open-mouthed and clutching the cross dangling from his neck. He extended it towards him, as if the sacred image might make him vanish on the spot.

“I’m no demon, priest. A cross wont make me evaporate in a cloud of sulphur”.

The monk nodded and seemed to consider what the Beast had told him, before throwing a vessel full of water to his face.

“What the Hell, priest!” Ok, the Beast didn’t feel the cold much, but being drenched in chilly holy water in winter still was no fun. He took a step towards him, growling. “I’m trying to keep calm, priest. Don’t press your luck. I’m here just for Timothée”.

“Timothée?”, at the name the monk gulped. “Is he still… alive?”

“Of course he is. Why wouldn’t he be?”

“People have been looking for him and-”

 _What? Are they still hunting him down?_ The Beast was furious.

The monk eyed him warily. “Is he in good health? Physical and otherwise?”

“Yes, he is”, he sighed. “He wishes he could come to midnight mass but-”

“That must not happen”, cried Abbé Jacques. “All of the village will be attending and”, he lowered his voice and turned as if to look for prying ears “he’s in danger”.

The Beast growled menacingly.

“Not from me”, said the monk softly. “I love him deeply”.

The Beast looked at him - should he be worried? Were the attentions of the monk truly honourable? “I will protect him with my life. No one will get to him. Ever!”, he growled.

The priest glared. “He is like a son to me. Nothing else. What is he for you?”

The Beast blushed. It was bound to happen, sooner or later, with all of Tim’s constant blushing and biting of the lips, right?. It must have been rubbing off on him, right? Blushing meant nothing, right? He sighed. “He… He is very dear to me”.

“And you?”, asked the priest. “Are you dear to him?”

“I know what bigoted people like you might think, and I don’t give a fuck!”, he spat out.

If he was being honest, he hadn’t really stopped to think about what Tim might feel for him. He had avoided the issue and was planning to keep doing so. But the inquiring eyes of the monk were digging too deep into his soul.

Abbé Jacques sighed and handed him a towel, pointing at the fireplace. “Dry yourself, sit”.

The Beast did as he was told. “I hope”, he croaked. “I hope he is at least somewhat tranquil with me”.

The monk nodded. “Are you treating him well?”

He felt naked and vulnerable under his scrutiny. “I think I am. I hope I am”.

“You love him”.

“What? No, I-” _Where are the words when I need them?_ “I, he, we are not…”

The monk chuckled. “I wasn’t a monk all my life, you see. I know about things that matter”. He sighed and sat opposite the Beast. “When we enter priesthood we change name, you know that, right?”

The Beast nodded.

“I was born a Luca G. from a well-off family somewhere in Northern Italy. As the younger son, I was not to inherit my father’s estate. Everything would go to my older brother - I could choose a career in the military or the clergy. I was young and hotblooded, I chose the earlier”. He shifted in his chair, gaze getting darker. “War was not what I had naïvely imagined. It was not honour and victory. It was dirt and blood and screams and death and crapping your pants in fear and eating what you can forage in the woods. It was horrible”, he shuddered. “But I fell in love and suddenly everything seemed bearable again. Ferdinando was… beautiful and noble and-” His voice broke. “He died in my arms and a part of me died with him. I was devastated - I knew I wouldn’t love anyone else like I had loved him”. He got up to take a sip of water. “I decided to dedicate my life to his memory and to try and atone the horrible things I had done at war. I became a monk and have been ever since”.

The Beast was stunned. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I know what love really looks like. And I need to know that my boy is treated well. You will take me to him”.

“I can’t. I-”

“So why are you here?”

“I thought you could give me a hint for something I could gift him that would make the difference”.

“It’s me that would make a difference. If you really love him, you’ll gift him my visit”.

 

~

 

 _How has he convinced me to do this? I will never know_ , the Beast growled under his breath.

A couple of days had passed from their conversation at the priory and now the monk was riding Sombre. Calm and relaxed, he didn’t care about being blindfolded. The Beast had wanted to be sure he couldn’t find his way back, or confess the directions, even inadvertently, to somebody. _Better this._

As soon as they reached the castle, Spartacus came running, eager to meet the guest. The monk laughed. “I love dogs - unfortunately I cannot keep them at the priory”.

The Beast called Tim and heard his feet slide on the floor, his head peeking out of the second floor balcony. Unruly curls and cheeks smeared with paint.

The boy’s eyes went wide and tears started rolling down his cheeks as he ran downstairs. He almost tripped but the Beast was there ready to catch him. “Don’t hurt yourself” he whispered as Tim clutched his shirt.

“Is this real? Am I not hallucinating?”

“Yes, it is and no, you are not crazy. Merry Christmas, Tim”, he said softly.

The boy hugged him, shivering, and basically jumped into the monk’s arms.

“Hey hey, I’m an old man, Timothée and you are no child anymore. You will break me in half…”

The boy was sobbing onto the priest’s chest. The Beast lowered his eyes, embarassed. He nodded at the monk and mouthed a ‘call me if you need me’ before leaving the two friends alone.

 

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

 

Tim had been showing Abbé Jacques around. The library and the study were of course the rooms the monk appreciated the most.

They were having a cup of tea when he whispered, “How are you Timothée? I mean, how do you really feel?”

He blushed.

“If he is hurting you-”

“No, he is not”.

“I mean it, Timothée. If he is abusing you, in any way, I can-”, the monk sighed wringing his hands sadly. “I know how to kill a man”.

Tim stared, eyes open wide. “No, no, no, he’s not. It’s just complicated. I mean, it has been, mostly at the beginning, but now things are good”.

“He told me you’ve been sad”.

“Did he? Why?”

“I think he’s worried for you, but I’m not sure if he knows how to take care of you”.

“He does”, Tim whispered. “I just wish I could be free, you know…”

The monk nodded. “I’m afraid that is not possible. At least for now. I have to tell you what’s been happening at the village…”, he said drily.

 

~

 

The Beast had tried not to listen, he really tried. It wasn’t his fault if his senses were so sharp, right? He sighed. _He still wants to go?_ No, that’s not what he had said. He said he wished he was free. _But that means he wants to leave, right?_ Not necessarily, although… _Fuck._ His brain wasn’t providing a lot of useful deduction. Better to leave the castle and let them talk without eavesdropping. _Sigh._

When he came back from his walk, the monk was waiting for him, cloak on. Tim was sniffling at his side.

“Better to go, Beast. It’s getting dark and while at the priory know that on Tuesdays I visit the sick outside the village, if I return too late they will speculate”.

“Of course”, he said, “the horse is ready”.

Tim clung to the monk’s chest, who kissed his forehead. “I love you, Timothée. You are always in my prayers. Be strong”.

The boy nodded, wiping away at his eyes. “I am. I will”.

 

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

 

When the Beast returned, after accompanying Abbé Jacques to the outskirts of the village, he didn’t know how he would find Tim.

Would he still be sad, maybe even sadder than before? He wasn’t sure if he had done the right thing after all. He had wanted to gift him something of importance, but now he was full of doubts.

He found the boy tinkering at the piano, slim back curling on itself, dark curls covering his face. He was struggling with the keys but still going at it, eyes closed, focused on the music. He cursed feebly under his breath when his fingers didn’t obey him as he wished, only to quickly blush at the sound of his swear words.

The Beast sat on the chaise longue, not wanting to disturb him, waiting with bated breath for a reaction. Only after he had finished practicing, Tim noticed him. He blinked, stood up, came to him and pressed the Beast’s legs together, in order to straddle his lap. He leaned his forehead to the Beast’s and sighed.

“Thank you”, he whispered. “I wasn’t expecting this”.

“You are welcome”, he smiled. “I’m sorry I reacted badly to your words the other day. I’m basically a recluse, not minding anyone but myself. I’m not accustomed to having friends or loving them. I’ve always been alone”.

“You have me, now”.

The Beast shivered. “Yes, I have you, and I’m not sure if I’m doing a good job at making you happy”.

Tim giggled. “Didn’t know that was your job, now”.

“Well…”

“You are, though. Giving me everything I may need”.

“Is it enough, though?”, he croaked.

Tim opened his mouth to answer but the Beast pressed a finger to his lips. “No, please, don’t say anything. Forget I asked. I’m not ready for this conversation to happen”.

Timothée nodded. “Want to sleep with me tonight? I don’t want to be alone”.

The Beast kissed his cheek. “Of course. Anything for you, Tim”.

 

~

 

It was in the morning that Tim decided to gift something back to the Beast. A painting, to be precise. He started drawing small sketches of the berm, preliminary studies from different angles. He was trying to decide how to better convey the feelings of peace and sweetness of the place. He smiled thinking of that day - he hoped his gift would be cherished by the Beast. But it would need too much work to be ready for Christmas.

So, he went to the woods and collected pinecones, wooden branches, red berries and whatever he could find that looked festive. He would decorate the library - they passed most of their time together there. Back in the castle, he found ribbons and bows. Gathered candles, painted them in jewels colours and scattered them allover the room. A garland on the fireplace nestled the gift from Abbé Jacques, a tiny wooden crèche - minus Baby Jesus, of course, He would come only on Christmas day.

The look of wonder on the Beast’s face was something else. “What is this?”, he grinned.

“Christmas!”, Timothée beemed, unveiling his bûche de Noël, the bestest dessert of all times, in his own opinion.

“Listen, I know you said you don’t do Christmas but-”

The Beast hugged him and kissed him lightly on the lips. “It’s beautiful Tim, thank you”. _What the fuck, is it moisture I feel in my eyes?_ He went to admire the crèche on the fireplace just to turn his back to the boy. _Way to go Beast, such a strong show of manliness!_

But Tim seemed to understand - he hugged him from behind, pressing his cheek on his back. They both stared into the flames, pondering what the new year would bring.

They exhaled. They hoped.


	23. Audere est facere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut, smut, smut.   
> And safewords, stables and saddle stands. Basically a fest for the letter ‘s’, as in sex. *ahem*
> 
> Y’all - the boys needed it, I needed it, so if this is not your thing, please leave now. You’ve been warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this chapter :-)   
> BTW All mistakes are mine - all kudos and comments are welcomed!
> 
> Title means ‘to dare is to do’ in Latin.

 

Weeks later…

 

He had been looking for the boy for all the right reasons. Wholesome, harmless reasons. Or so he thought.

Snow season had finished, spring was around the corner - time to get back to training outside. No more horse riding in the paddock or sword dueling in the foyer, time to stop baking too many breads and rich treats or they would get fat _well, not really, given the amount of work they had been putting into training, but better not to tempt fate._ The Beast was feeling a bit restless - it had been a cold winter and they had killed time huddled side by side at home most days. Chatting, studying, playing music, dancing.

As for the nights… Well, some nights they had been together. At times, just sleeping (Timothée seeking his warmth during the coldest hours, nuzzling his chest, clutching to his fur).

Other nights… Absolutely. Not. Just. Sleeping.

_Merde_ , just thinking about those nights made him hard.

Hands tentatively touching, getting more daring in time, mouths kissing and nipping and murmuring sweet and dirty things. Caresses turning into stroking that turned into moaning and gasping and coming.

_Merde, indeed._

The Beast enjoyed seeing how Tim favoured his attentions. The way he moaned when he slid his tongue down his throat. The way he whimpered when he bathed him with his thick, slightly raspy ‘mobile mass of muscular tissue located in the oral cavity’. You want my tongue? _Très bien_ , _garçon_. Tongue it is, then.

Timothée was so unguarded with his emotions, so open, so willing to show himself vulnerable… So brave! The Beast had never felt so in awe of someone. He wanted to wreck him, to discover at which heights he could bring him to. _Fuck._

It had been wonderful. Best time he had in ages, possibly ever.

 

~

 

The Beast wanted to be good. He truly did. So he had kept his dick to himself, as well as fingers and tongue, _yes, even tongue,_ when they had hitched to spread and lick and probe further. So much further. _Sigh_ , it was hard, harder than he thought possible. In every sense of the word.

So it had truly been the random luck of the Universe if he had found the boy in the stables, almost bent in half - _oh so_ _beautifully -_ as he was grooming Sombre. He had licked his lips, seeing how the white breeches hugged his slim legs and tiny ass, who had gotten even more delectable with all the riding and fighting training. He sighed. _Get a grip, Beast!_ He was clearly preparing to ride Sombre. _I want him riding something else_ , he whispered to himself. _Sigh._

“Bête, ça va?”, Tim asked, staring at him quizzically. Only then the Beast noticed that he had been slapping his face with his two hands, in a futile attempt to get out of the lusty haze he had drown into. He was looking like a lunatic, he was sure. Was he salivating? Had he been dribbling spit allover himself? He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. No, he hadn’t, thank God.

Tim quirked his eyebrow.

“Alors? What’s going- Ooofff”, he gasped as he was thrown over the Beast’s shoulder who then proceeded to walk towards the back of the stables. He deposited him gently on the floor, caught him as he swayed and took his face in his hands.

“You need a word. Now”, the Beast grunted.

“Uh? A word?”

“Yes. A word”, he nodded earnestly. Tim looked at him, tilted head, disconcerted.

“I’m going to do things to you”, he purred, kissing his neck. “And if you really wish me to stop, you have to say the word. And I’ll stop”.

Tim instantly blushed. “Wasn’t the word ‘no’ invented for that?”, he chuckled.

“No, it wasn’t”, he sighed. “Remember when I was licking your armpit the other night, and you said ‘no’ because you were being ticklish, but it wasn’t a real ‘no’ because you were just worried I’d tickle you to death, which was totally not my intention, or maybe you thought you smelled bad or some other shitty thought and for that reason you didn’t want me there, and thank God I knew the difference, and you were definitely aroused, fuck, you were leaking and-”

_Ok, Beast. Breathe_.

He swallowed. “What I mean is, choose a word, something that you cannot possibly blurt out during ‘this’ so that however into ‘this’ I might get, I’ll stop when I hear it. Makes sense?”

“Uhm… I guess…”, Tim nodded. “But-”

“No ‘buts’, unless that is your word and you are telling me ‘no’ from the start. In that case I would strongly suggest you a different kind of wording and- I must go swim in the river, like now”.

Tim smiled and shook his head. “You are truly impossible. What is happening toda-?”

“I want you Timothée. Badly. You don’t know how much”.

He shivered. “Uhm, you mean…”

“No, not that”, he smiled. “No, wait. Of course I want that but…” The Beast tilted his chin and looked at him in the eye. “We should talk about it beforehand, don’t you think? And, in the stables? No Tim, if it ever happens, and if you really want it, it won’t be like this, ok?”

The boy nodded. “Escutcheon”.

“I beg your pardon?”, croaked the Beast.

“Escutcheon. That’s my word. I’m pretty sure I won’t be blurting out something about door brass plates during… whatever you plan to do to me”, he said sheepishly.

Well, now his mouth had really started to salivate because… _Fuck, yes_.

“Lose your clothes, now”, he said softly. Well, as softly as he could manage. He crossed his arms and waited; he could have been the one to undress him, and it would have been glorious, kissing his skin as soon as he had uncovered a patch of it, but he wanted to give him space to process what was going on. To stop if it was too much already.

“Uhm, isn’t it too bright right now? I mean, the sun is still very much high in the sky and-”

“Do you wish to stop?”, the Beast asked calmly. “You can do that, you know. Just use your word”.

Tim bit his lower lip.

“You are beautiful Timothée. I wish to see you in broad daylight, not only at night, bathed by the flickering light of candles”.

The boy nodded, exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding and took off his light coat.

_Off off off_ , thought the Beast. _Oh, yes._

Soon enough he was stark naked, hands covering himself. The Beast wished to tell him to not do that, but didn’t - he just went to him and nuzzled his cheek.

“You are so brave, Tim. Standing here without knowing what I plan to do to you”. He nipped at his chin, felt him shiver. He was a bastard, a part of him wanted to scare him. _Just a bit._ He could feel Tim’s heart beating louder in his chest. He grazed his neck with his thumb, slightly pressing on his windpipe before breathing “Will you let me tie you up, Timothée?” to his ear.

He felt him nod and, throat moving under his finger, swallow.

“Good boy”, he said and went to fetch an old pair of bridles. The sound of leather ripping startled Tim, who looked wide-eyed as the Beast retrieved a wooden saddle stand and set it in the middle of the big stall they were in. Still clutching the torn pieces of leather, the Beast wiggled his finger to call him by his side.

Tim almost tripped over his feet, cock half-hard. He felt on fire, scared and aroused at the same time. _Fuck_.

He got to the Beast, who slid his hand over his naked back, an assessing gaze on his face. “Bend over the stand, let me see if this works”.

Tim did as commanded.

“Good”, the Beast said mostly to himself. “Now get up.” He went to retrieve some blankets and padded the wooden support. “Don’t want to hurt yourself or get splinters, right? Now bend again. Better?”

“Yes”, he whispered.

“Good, I want you to tell me if you feel your head getting fuzzy or your arms or anything of that kind, ok?”

“Mmm”.

“Answer me, Tim”,

“Yes, I will tell you if anything feels wrong”. Timothée rolled his eyes.

_Oh, so cheeky!,_ he thought. _I’ll erase that cocky smirk from your face._

“Ok, now get down, open your arms. More”. He tied the wrists to the saddle stand’s legs. _Beautiful._

Tim tried to move his arms, discovered he couldn’t and started to shake.

“This is no pretend play, Tim”, he said calmly. “These ties are no child’s game. You are at my disposal now. I could tie your ankles as well. Might still do if I feel like it. If you resist me. Do you understand?”

He nodded.

“Do you wish to use your word?”

He shook his head.

“Tell me verbally, Tim. Or I’ll spank you”.

“Yes, I understand. No, I don’t wish to use my word now”.

“Good”, the Beast said caressing his ass - before smacking loudly the palm of his hand on his right cheek.

“Aargh”, Tim yelped. “You said you wouldn’t spank!”

“I changed my mind”.

“What?”

Another slap, on the left cheek this time. The Beast looked at his work and smiled at the sight of the reddened globes.

“Does it hurt, Tim?”

“Yes”.

“Really?”

“No”, he pouted. “Only a bit”.

“Good”. He kneeled and kissed the warm skin. Tim’s hips jumped at the touch.

“Quiet, or I’ll tie your ankles as well”.

“Aren’t you going to do as you please anyways?”, he growled. _Oh God, he’s adorable. Like a hissing kitten._

“Exactly, Tim. You are a fast learner. I knew you’d be in this as well”.

The Beast looked around, stood and went to the back shelf - Tim noticed the whip only when he used it to tilt up his chin. _What-?_. He whimpered.

“Don’t worry boy. I won’t hurt you. I would never truly hurt you”, he kissed him lightly in the lips.” Do you trust me?”

“Ye- Yes”.

“Good”. He dragged the whip all over his back, grazing his spine from neck to ass. He repeated the motions a few times, dry leather crackling on Tim’s skin, until he saw him squirm and pant. _Oh, yes._ He smelled his arousal, tinged with fear but strong nonetheless. He threw away the whip and proceeded to use his silk neckerchief to caress his back. Timothéee shivered under the soft touch of silk after the rough leather.

“Do you like this, Tim?”

This time he quickly remembered to use his words. “Yes, yes I do”.

The Beast went on to slowly stroke his neck, his stretched shoulderblades, his back, his buttocks. He took his time. When the pad of his finger grazed his dusk pink hole, he reveled in Tim’s moans.

_Enough with the teasing._ He kneeled to get to the boy’s level, tilted his head, looked at his eyes, slightly hazy with pleasure. He checked the ties. The leather was rubbing his wrists, he would have burns tomorrow and for a few days after, but nothing heavy, just lovely marks of their lovemaking. He kissed him roughly. _Mine, mine, mine._ Tim answered the kiss as deeply as he could, straining his neck.

“You are so beautiful, Tim. So beautiful. Let me worship you”. _Don’t freak out, please,_ he thought.

He peppered his cheeks and temples with tender kisses, and started to slowly move along his spine, from neck to shoulders to back. It might have been easier, if Tim had not been bent at such a deep angle. _Oh, well._ When he arrived at the waist, he had to go around the saddle stand to get behind him. He stared at his ass, palming his cock.

“Spread your legs, Tim. I want to look at you. Everywhere”.

The boy instinctively closed them, but shivered and opened them before the Best wished to spank his ass. _Too late._ He did it anyways, receiving an outraged yelp in response.

“I want you to obey quicker, Tim. Now open a bit more”.   
Tim bit the inside of his cheek and felt blood in his mouth. He hissed at the taste.

“You ok? Wish to use your word?”

“Yes. And no”, he said opening the legs as far as they could go.

The Beast resumed kissing him from the waist down and when he got to his ass, he just hovered there, watching him squirm - and leak - before spreading his cheeks and swiping his tongue from hole to sack. One, two, three times.

“Fuuck”, he sobbed. “What are you-”

The Beast caressed his curls, tugging them lightly. They hadn’t done this before.

“I’m going to eat your ass, Timothée. I’m going to fuck it with my tongue and my fingers. I’m going to make you come so hard”.

Tim was sobbing by now, fat tears falling slowly from his long eyelashes. Wrists tugging at the ties. Body shivering. Hole twitching. _So precious._

He kneeled behind him and spread his cheeks for the second time. He bit lightly at the tender skin, teased with the tip of his tongue, then went lower caressing his sack with tender fingers before swallowing his cock whole and releasing it with a pop.

The lion in him purred _\- finally, finally, finally -_ all he wanted was to keep sliding his tongue on the boy’s length, nipping at his shaking thighs, sucking the balls in his mouth before turning to his hole and lapping it eagerly.

He didn’t know how many times he did this, how long this went on for. Time stood still, only Tim mattered. Timothée and the lovely cries he tried to muffle biting the woolen blanket under his chin. “Don’t shield away from me, Tim. Let me hear you”.

“I- I- God”.

He kept at it until Tim was a blubbering mess. He stopped a few times, when he felt his boy’s balls tighten, threatening to spill over. _Oh, no boy, this time I’m truly wrecking you._

When he finally felt his hole relax against the relentless attack of his tongue, he breached him with the strong muscle. After a high-pitched cry, he felt him relax and open up to his wet fucking. _I knew he would taste like Heaven_ , the Beast thought, palming himself _. More. I need more_.

He stood up and went to retrieve the flask of olive oil that was used to grease the saddle. He let some of the oil fell on Tim’s cleft and saw him jump at the sensation.

“It’s just oil. Nothing to be scared about”. He drenched his fingers in the viscous liquid. Tim was loosened by his tongue but the Beast didn’t want to take chances. “Shhh, relax boy, It’s just me, don’t worry”.

He pressed the pad of his finger to his entrance and left it there. Just a tiny pressure while he kept kissing and licking everywhere else. When he felt him relax, he pressed inside, just to the first knuckle.

“You are doing so good, Tim. So, fucking proud of you. Taking me so well”. He was almost choking on his words. Gosh, this boy was everything. _Everything_.

When he felt his finger slid in completely, he waited before starting pressing his tongue at its side.

The sounds coming from Tim’s throat were unlike anything he had ever heard. They were imprinting in his ears just like the sight in front of him was.

_I will never forget this_ , he thought. _Even if I get to old age, I’ll never forget this morning. Ever._

He was now filling him with tongue and finger. His hole was puffy and reddened, making his mouth salivate so bad. _Time for more_ , he thought.

He added oil, so much oil, _don’t hurt him, don’t hurt him,_ while he kept pressing _._ Oil and spit eased a second thick digit in. His hole stretched and swallowed him and the Beast started to wiggle his fingers. An almost inhuman keen rose out of Tim’s throat.

_There it is_ , he thought, stroking the top of his prostate a few times before Tim cried out loud, thick white cords of semen falling on the floor. The boy was howling - and coming and coming and coming.

He slowly eased his fingers out of him and went to untie his wrists. As he massaged them, Tim was still sprawled on the stand, trying to catch his breath.

When the Beast tried to lift him up, he shook his head, grunting. “Give- Give me a moment here”.

“Sure”, he chuckled, offering him some water. Most dribbled down his chin, some actually passed through the boy’s parched lips.

“Are you feeling goo-”. The question died on the Beast’s lips as he swayed forward. Tim had yanked him towards himself, hands going for his belt buckle.

“What-?”, he croaked.

“You haven’t come yet”, Tim said, a determined look on his face. He was freeing his swollen cock, lips chasing its tip.

“Wait, you-”, he tried to shift his hips back but Tim held him strongly.

“Shut up”, Tim growled. “It’s about time. I want to taste you”.

He licked the Beast’s shaft, trying to mimic what he had done to him earlier. Moved on the wooden stand to find a better angle, but soon discovered that his position was not the issue. _He’s too big. Fuck, I can’t._

He groaned in frustration, tried to open his mouth wider. He knew he couldn’t possibily give the Beast the same pleasure he had received. He just had no experience. _And he is too fucking big._ But he had been on the receiving end of fellatio and knew what felt good. Tim licked the broad tip, already glistening with precome, before peppering the sides of tiny kisses and then licking up and down the whole ridged shaft. Flat tongue wiggled at the sensitive spot underneath the tip, while his eyes searched for clues on the Beast’s face. _Is he enjoying this?_

The Beast had an expression of wonder on his face. Mouth hanging open, wide eyes, big hands caressing his curls, not pushing or anything, just there. He was purring, the low vibration flowing to his cock, filling Tim’s mouth. Who moaned back, inebriated by the musky smell coming from the Beast.

Timothée inhaled deeply and nuzzled his cheek on his crotch. He felt his spent cock stir again. He grinned and looked at him. The Beast’s gaze was soft and hard at the same time. He had a tenderness in his eyes and yet he licked his lips like a predator wanting to devour his prey. Tim inhaled and covered his teeth with his lips before downing the shaft as far as it could go.

“Fuck”, the Beast hissed. Then he looked down and all air left his lungs. _fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_

Tim was staring at him, lips obscenely stretched around his girth, tears falling on his cheeks from exertion. He was choking on his cock, spit escaping from his lips, desire and something else in his eyes. _Fuck_. Such a perfect image to be committed to memory!

He caressed the boy’s cheeks and marveled at the deep intimacy of the act.

_Is there anything more generous than nesting your face in your partner’s most intimate area, welcoming his supplicant shaft, dedicating yourself to selfless service, allowing and embracing and saying yes, yes, yes… and, at the blessed end, committing to ritually swallow the ultimate bodily fluid?_ No, he thought, there isn’t.

A ritual, _yes_ , it was a ritual. A ceremony, a Communion of the most sacred kind. A bonding.

The Beast wasn’t sure if he was ready for that. For such intimacy. Actually, if he was being honest, he was quite afraid of the words that might escape his lips if he let Timothée continue.

Words of promise, that would seal oaths and vows.

Words that would speak of perpetuity, of everlasting life, of forever.

He could not go there.

He backed up a bit, cock escaping the boy’s mouth with an obscene pop. He slid it across his lower lip, smeared wetness on his cheek. He helped Tim to a standing position, saw how his hand grabbed the wooden support to keep his knees from buckling.

Without taking his eyes off of him, the Beast got naked and retrieved the oil. He slicked up his cock and went behind Tim, hugging him chest to back. The boy whimpered as he closed his hand on his throat, his back arching instinctively, head falling on the Beast’s shoulder. His breath hitched as he felt slick fingers caressing his hole and thighs.

The Beast tucked his nose in Tim’s hair as he slid his cock between his ass cheeks, oil easing the friction. _God_. With the other hand, he grabbed strongly the boy’s hip as he rubbed his cock up and down Tim’s crack. _Delicious_. He shivered, if he wasn’t careful he would come in seconds, he just knew it.

Tim was whimpering, cock half-hard. _Again?,_ the Beast thought with a chuckle.

“You like this, Tim?”, he purred, “Do you like me fucking your sweet cheeks?”

Tim shuddered. “Ye- Yes. Please…”

“Please what, boy?”

“I- I need to come”.

“Oh, do you? A second time? Horny much, Timothée?”. He reveled in seeing him blush.

“You are so pretty like this, so debauched for me”. The Beast sighed. “How could I deny you anything?”

Timothée was pressing his ass against his cock, writhing and mewling. “Touch yourself, boy. Make yourself come. I want to see you!”, he growled to his neck, nipping the tender skin there. _Bruises, yes, he’ll be covered in bruises by tomorrow._

As Tim’s hand tugged quickly at his cock, almost in a frenzy, the Beast continued to rub against his hole. _Fuck_. As he felt the boy get close, the tip of his tail flicked on his nipple, a sudden silken caress that made Tim’s skin tingle, nipples hardening into tight nubs. It was enough to send him flying, a rush of pleasure so intense that he almost fell down.

The Beast hugged him tightly, “I’ve got you”, he whispered before spurting over his lower back with a deep roar.

Panting, they both slithered to the ground, trying to catch their breath.

It was Tim who giggled and turned to lean his forehead to the Beast’s chest. “That was- That was-”

“Oui”, he breathed. “Merveilleusement fou”.

He kissed Tim’s curls and bundled him in a blanket on the soft hay. He brought him water, lay to his side and opened his arms to hug him. Tim clung to his chest - leg wrapping the Beast’s hip like he didn’t want him to ever go - and sighed as he felt his eyes close. “Give me a minute”, he yawned.

The Beast chuckled, they could wash later. _Or never._ He loved them smelling of sex and pleasure.

His lion was satisfied, purring softly inside him.

On the outside, he was still shivering.


	24. Veritas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had to happen eventually. Sorry, Beast!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title means ‘truth’ in Latin.

 

~

Two men are lying in a field, on a bed of leaves and dry grass. Their bodies are relaxed, enjoying the close proximity. The younger of the two is on his side - hand extended shily, long fingers reaching to touch. The other man - well, Beast - is resting on his back, hand clasped under his neck. He waits.

In the background, a lake with a small spring that brings forth the purest water. And trees - some bare, some sporting reddish-brown leaves, curling in the gentle breeze. Clear clouds dot the grey sky.

A dreamy gaze graces the face of the young man. Eyes closed, unguarded countenance, the Beast has a soft smile on his lips. A longing is between the two - more evident in the younger one, whose desire is quiet but reads clearly, slightly subdued in the other, for whom the idea of his companion’s yearning is almost too much to grasp. He stands still, almost afraid that opening his eyes will break the enchanted moment they are in.

~

Timothée lowered his paintbrush with a shy happy smile. “That’s it”, he said to himself. “It’s done”.

 

_ _ _

 

It was a sunny day, the kind that makes you want to take your shoes off and caress with the pad of your feet the tender grass of the new season.

As he let the painting dry, though, Timothée decided to not go outside, and join the Beast in the garden, but to go search for a suitable frame. He had a gift to prepare after all, a surprise. Better to not waste time - ‘he’ would come back at any moment.

Tim couldn’t just remove one of the Beast’s paintings from the wall to substitute the art with his rendition of the Berm (and of themselves). Well, a few of the paintings hanging on the walls were quite depressing in his opinion and he would have gladily lost them. The frames were magnificent, though, mostly made of carved wood and gold leaf. Still, they were the Beast’s paintings and he didn’t deemed nice to do that. Also, the canvas he had opted to use was a little smaller than usual – to him, it was quainter, as charming as the subject of the painting itself. He needed, and wanted, a special frame to go with his gift to the Beast. He was prepared to try and build it himself if he didn’t find one that he liked enough.

He felt a funny sensation spread in his stomach when he thought about them being portrayed together on canvas.

A painting was something that defied the passing of time. That fateful day at the berm - already months in the past - was now again in the present. As a testimony of something lasting and precious, ready to face months, even years to come. _An eternal present,_ he thought.

Timothée sighed, blushing deeply as he remembered another precious moment, of a totally different nature, that had happened a few days earlier, in the stables.

_Fuck._

Before that, he had always felt that the Beast was holding back with him, that he was not showing the full extent of his beastly side. Not that he minded his restraint, oh no, he remembered how scared he had been when he first came to live at the castle. The Beast had been kind to him - well, mostly, they had had their very rough moments - but Tim had always felt his concern, his desire to make him feel at ease in everything.

Apparently, his gentlemanly ways were not all there was about him. _Not at all._ He flushed.

The boy had never stopped to ponder how life would be for such a creature, such an incongruous mix of refined nobility and base instincts. Hands that played the piano and leafed through art books donned with claws made for killing. Lips eager to kiss and murmur sweet nothings and canines that could rip a throat in seconds. Sharp mind and witty humour in a body so strong that made windows tremble when he walked by. Lust so intense that made Timothée’s skin tingle even when the Beast was not present. Big heart in addition to that – kind and caring. A heart that, even when it struggled to make itself fully known, was shining bright for Tim to see.

The Beast was a mystery, he thought, as he took the staircase that lead to the attic, the only room he hadn’t explored in the past months (aside from the damp, dark cellars that had spooked him at first sight). He remembered the Beast’s warning – he truly hoped he wouldn’t find rats up there.

Windows opened wide, _only to let fresh air and some light in, just to be sensible, not at all because the huge dark room is scary as Hell, oh, no,_ Timothée started his search. Forgotten toys of decades ago, broken chairs, trunks filled with weird clothing… a little bit of everything was there. As something fluttered to his left, he gasped, heart in his throat. _Get a grip, Tim_. “It’s just a damned owl”.

Finally he spotted a pile of frames and paintings on the side. If they were there, they evidently were of no importance. “Yes”, he shouted, when he found what he was looking for. A simple wooden frame, no gold or black paint on it, just warm natural wood. It would be perfect for The Berm, as simple and lovely as that special place. Tim popped out the vile still life of pheasants with a bowl of cherries on a checkered tablecloth _oh, my, the hideousness_ and turned to leave. _A light coat of beeswax will revive the wood. It will be perfect._

His hand was almost on the door handle when he caught something out of the corner of his eye.

A huge rectangular shape, covered by a dark cloth, stood in the corner. _A mirror_ , he wondered, _or is it a painting?_

He lowered his newfound frame and went to remove the cloth. It was a painting, the back of it actually, but the canvas was slashed, like somone had gone at it with a pointy knife.

He was now very curious. He pushed and pulled with his whole body to turn the frame - _fuck, this thing is heavy_ \- panting and sliding to the dusty floor when he finally succeded.

_Well, look at this._ The frame was hefty, golden wood, sumptuous. But quite banged and chipped in a few points, especially at the corners as if it had been dragged with no finesse into the attic. He noticed an inscription and cleaned the dust from it with the lace sleeve of his blouse. The wording was faded but legible. _Armand, XVII Marquis de L._

He stood up and took a few steps back to observe the painting.

Angry gashes cut the main part of the portrait. Because yes, it was a portrait - of a man. _A Marquis._

Tim’s gaze went up, from strong legs to big hands - one clutching the hilt of a sword, the other resting on the head of a hunting dog - to broad chest and… _his face, oh so handsome_ , he thought, _so, so handsome._

A blue-eyed, golden-haired Apollo, sporting an arrogant smirk on his full lips. _The asshole knows how beautiful he is_ , Tim chuckled, a shiver running down his spine. _Beautiful, so beautiful._

Something stopped him in his tracks. He tilted his head, a sort of uneasiness coming unto him. _Have I seen him before?_ , he asked himself. _Where?_

He tried to arrange the shreds better. And, all of a sudden, it struck him, air gasping out of his lungs as if someone had punched him hard in the stomach.

Strong body, blonde hair, _blue eyes_ , smirk on his lips, _oh those eyes_. He knew them, oh yes, he did. With shaking hands he put together the last fragments of canvas and whimpered. The hunting dog sitting at the man’s feet was a Dogue de Bordeaux with big head and alert eyes. _Spartacus_. The hand on his crown sported a signet ring with a rose on it. _That signet ring._

Tim gasped. _Nonononono, this cannot be true. This is not possible This-_

He took a step back, open-mouthed, when something wet touched his hand. He jumped and turned to find the big dog licking his fingers, tail thumping on the floor.

As specks of dust flew around, his gaze met another, full of scorching rage.

“Timothée. What have you done!”


	25. Scelus et poena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angstfest begins. Sorry guys :-/ 
> 
> I promise it will all be worth it in the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I posted just last friday but I needed to post this and will probably post next chapter soon as well, because the angst is already killing me and it’s just started. Lol. I want them to be happy like already! Fuck!
> 
> Title means ‘crime and punishment in Latin.

 

“Timothée. What have you done!”, the Beast roared, pacing through the dark room, hands tugging at his mane.

“I… I was just looking for a frame”, he said sheepishly.

“A frame?! A fucking frame?”

Tim flinched. “I painted something. I wanted to-”

“Do you even realize what you have done?”, he shouted. “No. Of course not. You obviously don’t”.

Tim swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. “I’m sorry if I upset you. I meant no harm”.

He got closer to the Beast, extended his hand to touch his shoulder. “Why are you so-”

“Do not touch me”, he hissed. “Do. Not. Do. It”.

“Bien”. Stung by his words, he took a step back. “Seriously, I don’t understand why you are behaving like this-”.

“You disobeyed me, Timothée. You always do”, he said with a snarl. “I had forbidden you to come here!”

“What? You just told me to not come to the attic because it was full of junk and possibly rats! But you also said that I could move as I pleased in the property and now you act like I betrayed you in some way or as if I stole something”.

_Yes, you stole our future_ , thought the Beast glumly.

“And by the way, you don’t get to order me around. I’m not your slave. This is preposterous!”, Tim shouted, pointing a finger to the Beast.

“I’m the owner and master of this place, you are to do as I tell you to”, he roared, a vicious glint in his eyes.

“Oh, really?” _Well_ , Tim thought, _the Beast is not the only one that can get angry quick_. “Stop behaving like an asshole when you know very well that it’s me who should be pissed!”

“And why would you be pissed, please do tell?”, he mocked him.

“You lied to me. All this time I believed you were some kind of peculiar creature. I thought you were born like this and…”

“Not. Another. Word.”

“No, you stop lying to me!”, Tim protested. “I told you everything about me. Everything. And you didn’t tell me who you truly are, you didn’t even tell me your true name, Arm-”

“Don’t you dare pronounce that name. Ever! I’m Beast. That’s what I am. I am nothing more to you and to anyone else”. He was flexing his claws as he spoke. “Don’t you ever try to suggest anything different”.

As Tim turned to look again at the portrait, he felt his chin being gripped abruptly and turned towards the Beast. “Look at me! What do you see? Look at me! I am just a foolish beast! Am I clear?”

Tim swallowed. The Marquis had a crazed look on his face. _What the fuck is happening_ , he whimpered.

The Beast turned his back to him, shoulders slumping. _I should have destroyed that painting a long time ago_ , Tim heard the Beast whisper to himself.

_Wait, is he crying?_ “Please, come here”. Tim lightly tugged at the Beast’s sleeve and saw him wince. “Please? Talk to me. I want to know. I want to understand”.

“I can’t”, he whimpered. “I can’t- You have no idea what you’ve done”.

The Beast crumpled to the floor, claws digging into the wood frantically. He didn’t notice the blood, only Timothée’s scared gasp.

“You are hurting yourself. Stop it!”

The boy was scared as he tried to connect with him. “Beast, look at me. What is going on?” But when he finally turned, all that Tim saw was a cold, empty gaze.

“It’s over, Timothée. Everything ends here”.

 

~

 

_‘_ _The boy must not know anything about your past identity. It is imperative. If he discovers what you were, I will be forced to take him away from here, from you. Am I clear?’_

The Beast shivered, remembering the witch’s words. Surely she wouldn’t hurt him, right? She wouldn’t hurt Tim? He was an innocent, right? Not an asshole deserving of harsh punishment like himself, right?

At the thought his heart started pounding loudly, the sound almost deafening in his ears. The Beast felt lightheaded and numb, hot and cold sweat clinging to his brow.

_‘You won’t piss me off. You know things might get messy very quick!’_ , she had said.

Messy? Oh, yes, she knew how to do messy! He gasped, trying to breathe, but air wasn’t flowing in his lungs. He felt his skin burn, his mouth was parched dry.

_‘A word with him about it and he will be taken from you instantly! Beware!_

What would she do? Take him away from him? To bring him where?

Surely not to his father’s home, right? Not to that abusive son-of-a-bitch who would without a doubt call the Duc and send Tim to torture and death? Nausea waves were urging the Beast to vomit. She wouldn’t do that, right? No she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

He couldn’t breathe, he felt he was choking with no way out.

Besides, wasn’t the whole purpose of her existence to ruin his life since that fateful night when he met and scorned her? He felt ashamed at the way he had treated her back then, he didn’t mean to physically hurt her, and yet he had pushed her aside, sneering at her horrible appearance and she had fallen and…

_God_ , he closed his hands in tight fists, claws digging in his palms until he felt a sharp pain that brought his attention back to the present.

_you won’t piss me off_

_beware_

_he will be taken from you instantly_

_away from here_

_away from you_

_things might get messy very quick_

_things might get messy very quick_

_things might get messy very quick_

He sobbed.

He knew what she meant.

He knew very well what she did to the people near him. And no one was, or had been, nearest than Tim.

She had hurt people that he didn’t really care about, just because she could. And no one was, or had been, dearest than Timothée. No one ever. Not once.

She knew very well that the best - and only way -to hurt him was through Tim.

The Beast understood, there and then, what she would do to the boy.

He couldn’t be there to see ‘it’ or he would not survive.

He just couldn’t be present when ‘that’ happened.

He despised himself for being so cowardly. But he knew he would die there and then, seeing ‘that’. He just could not.

He had always been a selfish bastard, but a part of him had thought that Tim had cured him of that.

He was severely mistaken.

He was just a spineless asshole after all.

By seeing the portrait, he had been remembered that he was still very much Armand. Even after so much time, and that was precisely the point.

_Armand._

Arrogant.

Fickle.

Self-serving.

Undependable.

Treacherous.

The lion in him would have fought for Tim. He knew that. He felt that, in his bones. He would have fought to death for Tim. But his human side was just too deceitful.

He thought he was different.

He thought he was better.

He was wrong.

The Beast stood up, unsteady, grasped the door jamb. He faintly noticed that Tim was calling to him, a worried expression on his face, mouth forming words that he couldn’t hear.

He went to the window, looked down at the interior courtyard, many floors below them and sighed.

He turned. Tim was eyeing him warily. His expression one of bewilderment and fear.

_Yes, you should be scared boy_ , he thought as he crossed the room and took the portrait in his hands. It was heavy but he was strong. _Stronger than that, at least._ He pushed the painting through the window and waited until he heard the big crash. Tim gasped at the sound and took a step towards the door.

“Oh, no, Tim. You are not going anywhere”, he said drily.

Something in his voice must have alerted him somehow, becuse he saw Tim sprint for the stairs. He was upon him in minutes. This was no playful game.

He hoisted Tim on his shoulder and started going downstairs, the boy hitting him and screaming. His training kicked in - a couple times he almost lost his grip on him. But the fight couldn’t be fair when one of them was a Beast. Tim had no chance to win against him - they both knew it yet he still tried. The boy was ballsy, but he already knew that.

The Beast reached the ground floor and pushed Tim through the doors leading to the underground chambers.

“Nononono. What do you have in mind? What the fuck are you doing?”

He pulled _him_ by his _wrists_ _,_ _dragging_ his writhing body across the floor. The stone was damp and cold, like the heavy walls of the basement. The air was stale - the Beast felt like choking.

“You are hurting me”, Tim panted.

“Then stop fighting me”, the Beast retorted.

“Please, what-? What is going on? Why are you doing this to me?”, he pleaded.

“You should have obeyed me, Tim. You truly should have”.

He shoved him into one of the cells, gasping for air. He hadn’t been in the dungeons in ages. Creepy place, but oh so convenient, at times. He felt bile filling his mouth, closed the iron bars behind him and turned.

“Beast! Armand! Fuck, let me go! Just let me go!”

The Beast hadn’t looked him once in the eyes, he could not. But his resolve almost wavered when he heard Timothée cry out “Escutcheon”.

The word hit him right in the stomach - almost making him double over in pain by the sheer power of it. He remembered the stables, the trust, the passion between them and shivered. _Gone. It’s all gone now._

He almost looked up at Tim, but he could not give in. He just couldn’t. He lowered his eyes again and turned to leave.

“Traitor!”, Tim cried. He felt him crumple to the floor, sobbing.

Without looking back, the Beast started to climb the steep stairs, stopping only to call Spartacus back to him. The dog had been whining through the whole ordeal, unable to grasp what was going on.

“Spartacus, come!”, he repeated, but the dog was still outside Tim’s cell, whimpering.

“Spartacus, heel”, he growled, before deciding to go back and directly grab him by his collar. _Fuck, fuck, fuck. Are you all going to kill me today?_

As he approached the dog, ignoring the small figure huddled on the floor, Spartacus’s body went stiff, ears pinned back. He bared his teeth and snarled, rear paws preparing to lunge. _What the fuck?_

“Spartacus?”, he croaked. The dog snarled again, sharp teeth menacing his owner, then turned his back to him and flopped on the floor, just outside Tim’s cell - big muzzle trying to pass through the bars, raspy tongue licking the sobbing boy’s fingers.

The Beast took a step back, turned and ran away.

Alone. He was definitely alone.


	26. Mea culpa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of the dungeons. What did the witch do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for following along. I know this has gotten angsty, but keep the faith!
> 
> Title means ‘through my fault’ in Latin

 

The Beast was hunched on all fours, retching over the tiny gravel of the internal courtyard, sharp smell of burning paint stinging his eyes. The broken portrait had caught fire easily, wooden frame and shredded canvas turning to hot ashes that fluttered around in the soft morning breeze.

It seemed that the heaving wouldn’t stop - he was probably vomiting his very own soul together with all the alcohol he had downed before dousing the painting with the leftovers. What a way to use 15 years old Cabernet! And Chartreuse and Cognac and eau-de-vie. His father was probably scolding him from the grave “ _Armand, decorum!”_ Fucking oaf knew nothing of suffering.

The Beast panted and shivered, falling head first to the ground after a while. Sharp pebbles hurt his skin, badly. He saw blood. _They cannot be so sharp_ , he mused in his alcoholic haze. He touched his face and hissed - looking at his hands, he saw bloodied claws and remembered vaguely scratching at himself, ripping his skin in fury.

 _Fuck_. He’d do anything to dull the pain he felt in his chest. Any pain was better than… No, he could not think of Tim. Not now.

He closed his eyes and let the void engulf him.

 

~

 

When he woke up, the sky was dark and the moon was shining bright through the clouds. He felt cold - weird, he never felt cold. Had he fainted? Maybe. Or just blacked out of sheer exhaustion. His mouth felt bitter and dry. He stood up, still wobbly, and sighed. He had no tears left, better man up and descend the dreaded stairs to the dungeons.

Would he find Tim huddled on the floor, eyes closed, tears perpetually congealed on his eyelashes? Or standing up, hands gripping the iron bars, mouth open in an eternal scream? Maybe he would be on his knees, hand extended in a plea that would haunt the Beast for always.

He sighed, heart beating loudly in his chest. What he knew for sure was how he would see him – a beautiful and abhorrent statue. A white marble statue. Timothée - dead before his time, young for eternity, _un objet d’art_ for him to mourn forever.

It had taken him quite some time to understand what had happened to his servants after he was turned. He had been roaring his rage for days, blinded by anguish and grief, before noticing that there was no other people in the castle. He had thought they had been recoiling from him, disgusted by his new appearance, and the idea hurt him more than he cared to admit. _Stupid servants, he would teach them a lesson as soon as he’d find them_ , he had thought foolishly.

He had been so self-centred, _well, of course_ , that only many days later he had understood the full extent of what had happened. As he had been metamorphosed from handsome marquis to heinous beast, all his servants were changed into statues, frozen in time at the precise moment of the enchantment. Women hanging the laundry, men tilling the land, even chicken laying eggs in the coop. Small children rolling hoops weren’t spared either.

The witch had showed no mercy.

He had shivered at the sight and his first instinct had been to destroy the statues. But they were people, after all - he hadn’t had the courage. He had resorted to wreck furniture and doors and windows, just to find them all intact the next day. That’s when he had known, without a doubt, that he was a prisoner of this new lowlife existence.

True despair had crept in. There was no way out.

 _Tim._ He sighed. _Tim. This is not what I wished for you. If I had ever imagined…_

He went downstairs - as he turned the corner, he froze.

Spartacus was lying on the floor, fur and all, breathing. _Oh, friend_ , he thought. _That wicked bitch has decided to make you suffer as well for the loss of Tim._ A heavy feeling in the stomach, he got nearer and…

He gasped and fell on his knees.

Small, pale fists were gripping Spartacus’ fur. Timothée was curled into a ball, shivering on the damp floor. He was asleep, whimpering through a bad dream, teeth clattering from the cold.

 _What? How?_ The Beast choked. _Tim? Alive? Tim!_

Could it be that the had misunderstood everything? He shuddered. No, it could not be. Color drained from his face.

_What have I done? God, what have I done?_

Maybe the horrid witch wished him to see what would happen to Tim after all, and had decided not to strike until the Beast was in the vicinity?

_What have I done?_

Tim - alone, all this time, in the dark.

_What have I done?_

Tim - sobbing, shivering, suffering.

_What have I done?_

Tim - uncomprehending at first, then hurt and sad, and angry and destroyed.

_What have I done?_

He suddenly felt dizzy, breathing was difficult. He coughed, bile threatening to come up again. He had deserted Tim in the worst way. How could he have done this?

_What was I thinking?_

He knew what he had been thinking. He had tried to save himself from… what exactly? Reproach, scorn, hate? From Tim? No. Tim was so much better than him. So much nobler. He wouldn’t have hated him for putting him in danger. Oh, no. He would have wanted to spend whatever time left with him, cuddling and laughing and… The Beast had ben a coward, wanting to spare himself from the pain of losing Tim by shutting himself down before it happened. Selfish as always. And totally inane. Tim was his life - how could he even think of cutting ties with him?

_What have I done?_

He should have been by his side, ready to face whatever that horrid creature might throw at him - at them - dying by his side if that was the case. Or kissing him goodbye as he was turned to stone, letting Tim bask in the notion that he was cherished, til the end.

_What have I done?_

The Beast shivered. No point in wasting time to condemn himself right now - he would have forever for that - he had to help Tim. He opened the cell, covered him with his cloak and ran upstairs, Spartacus following him closely.

He drew a hot bath and washed the still unconscious boy from the grime, clothed him in dry warm garments. The Beast ran to his bedroom to fetch the wolfskin blanket they had already put away for the season. Tim needed all the warmth possible. The idea of hugging him, and warming him with his body heat, made him sick - he had no right.

So, he bundled him up and waited for his cheeks to lose their ashen appearance. Winter had ended just recently and the basement stone walls had retained its cold dampness _._ If Tim got sick it would be all his fault.

_What have I done?_

As soon as he had him settled, the Beast rubbed Spartacus with a warm flannel and fed him water and chicken. The dog shily licked his hands, seemingly happy to see him his usual self.

He felt so ashamed. _I hurt those I love the most._

After he was sure Tim was fine, in his bed with loyal Spartacus at his side, he left the boy’s room and closed the door behind him. He had no doubt that Timothée would freak out if he found him there. He sighed and turned.

The witch was there, waiting for him.

 

_ _ _ _ _

 

The Beast shuddered.

The witch hadn’t shown herself much - she usually spoke into his mind, silvery voice echoing in his brain. At first, he had hated it - the whole thing seemed sick, abominable - but later he had concluded it was better not to see her face any time she wished to harass him.

And yet, there she was. Right in front of him.

Canines and claws lengthened, legs opened in a fighting stance in front of Timothée’s door.

She arched an eyebrow. “Seriously, Armand?”

He flinched at the name, but kept calm. “Witch. What brings you here?”

“I know you can guess”.

“I won’t let you hurt Tim. I’ll die fighting you. I have nothing to lose”.

“Yes, you have nothing left to lose. You already lost everything, by your own accord”.

_What?_

“What have you done?” She took a step towards him. He instinctly took a step back before steadying himself. _I’m not scared_.

“Go away”, he growled.

“I’ll go when, and if, I wish to go”, she hissed, before sighing and taking a step back. “I truly hoped you would have learned by now, you are such a great disappointment to me, Armand. So stubborn. So blind. How can I make you learn, I wonder?”.

“Please”, he croaked. “Please, don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything”.

“Hurt him? Why would I hurt him?”

“To hurt me back!”, he cried.

“Is this really what you think is going on here?” Her expression was grim.

“You didn’t spare anyone. Not even one of my servants”.

“Oh, I see”, she shook her head. “You still think everything revolves around you. You selfish idiot”.

_What?_

She took a big step forward and laid her hand on his face. He grimaced, a burning sensation jolting through his skin.

“Here you go”, she said curtly. “No more shredded mug. What were you thinking cutting yourself like this?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Did you think hurting yourself would be a good idea? Or that it would be punishment enough?”

“You said I was to not let Tim discover who I was! You said if I did, things were going to get messy!”

She pursed her lips. “And why did I say that? Do you remember?”

He looked at her with a scowl on his face. “What do you want from me?!”

“I specifically told you that you couldn’t have the easy way out! That you couldn’t tell him ‘poor me, I was such a handsome Marquis and then a bad witch turned me into this. Just kiss me and everything will be peachy again!’ I never said I would hurt the boy! Merde, Armand”.

“Do you have any idea of how much I hate you?”, he whimpered.

“Not as much as I hate what you have become!”

“What do you mean ‘what I have become’?”

The witch paled. “Never mind. You expected punishment from me, and you’ll have it. You brought it upon yourself. Follow me”.

The Beast swallowed and trailed up the stairs after her. As long as she was moving away from Tim, he was game. _Nothing matters anymore._

She stopped at the studio and opened the door, nodded for him to go inside. He looked back at Tim’s door, wondered if he was ever going to see him again. He felt stupid for having ever hoped that something good could be in store for them.

“Look, Armand! See for yourself what you have done!” She pointed to the easel in the corner and vanished into thin air.

He shuddered and ran downstairs.

_Where is she gone?_

Timothée’s door was closed, but still he needed to check on him. To be sure. He peeked inside – the boy was sleeping, lips parted, brows furrowed, a tiny trail of spit falling on the linen pillow. At another moment Tim would have probably been embarassed by that. With tears in his eyes, the Beast deemed the sleeping boy the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He closed the door and crept up the stairs, looking around warily. The witch was truly gone.

He neared the easel and a sob escaped his lips.

‘I painted something’, Timothée had said. Or better, had tried to say, before the Beast had chastised him so harshly.

_Something? Oh, Tim. You have painted everything._

Tears started to fall freely from his eyes, and he felt like choking all over again.

Timothée had painted the berm. And them. He had captured a fleeting moment, when Tim had hovered above him, hand outstretched, wanting to touch him. With eyes closed, the Beast had felt his warmth and smell and hadn’t moved, let him free to act or not. He was now seeing, portrayed in vivid colors, what the boy’s expression had been, the same soft expression he usually had when blushing happily.

Beautiful.

Tim had wanted to gift him something precious - most precious - and he had hurt him in exchange.

He was a monster.

The witch was right.

He had brought the worst punishment to himself, Timothée’s pain. And now he hated him, of course he did.

His heart was breaking in a thousand pieces. Would he ever be able to atone, in some way, for his sins? He didn’t know. What he knew for sure was that he had ruined everything. Again.

 

He ran to the woods.

 

_ _ _ _ _

 

Timothée woke up very thirsty and with a pounding headache. He found water and a light meal on his nightstand.

 _How did I came back here? Must have been the Beast._ _Probably decided he had punished me enough._ He shuddered, bitter taste filling his mouth.

_Fuck._

Tears started to prickle his eyes. He was furious about what had happened. About how he had been manhandled and bent into submission. Locked into a cell like a criminal. Like a property to be treated as the Beast deemed fit. He felt his fists tighten, rage boiling up.

_How dare he?_

His anger mounted as a rolling tide and he found himself trashing the room, screaming at the top of his lungs. Spartacus hid under the bed.

_I hate you._

_I hate you._

_I hate you._

He sobbed. How could a day start so beautifully and end so miserably?

_Get a grip, Tim! Stop being foolish! Just act!_

He got dressed quickly, dagger in the inside pocket of his coat - _I’ll be ready next time I see you_ \- and locked Spartacus in his bedroom. _Sorry_. He went to the stables, saddled Sombre. He had to leave now that the Beast was nowhere to be found.

He rode to the property lines, coasted along the perimeter of the premises. Nothing.

He entered the woods flanking the northern side, wandered through the fields. Nothing.

Ran to the bern, stomach contracting at the sight, tried to cross the stream. Nothing.

Embittered, he spurred the horse until he was foaming at the mouth. Nothing.

Nothing everywhere!

No way out!

_Fucking magic!_

As soon as he was far enough, a strong fog would come up – an unyielding wall of heavy mist that didn’t let him go. He tried to press against it to no avail. It kept him inside the property.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

Screaming in frustration, he swore until he was hoarse and turned back.

The Beast was not there.

_Thank God._

He resolved to try again the following day. On foot maybe things would be better. Of course they weren’t.

After two days of riding and running fruitlessly, he had to admit defeat. There was no way out. He was trapped.

He was exhausted, hadn’t slept much - he cackled at the idea of having spent so much time, at the beginning, plotting his escape from the castle. He had never stopped to consider that the outside would be as confining as the inside. That regardless of how elegant and ample the cage was, it was still a cage. Woods and gardens included.

He was weak. He hadn’t found a way to escape, hadn’t found a way to fight the Beast - he was trapped. Forever. His father was right after all - he was useless.

His recent life seemed but a distant dream.

He tried to avoid going there but without success - his mind provided a constant flow of memories. Memory after memory of ‘them’. Together, happy. Dining. Reading. Laughing. Playing. Riding. Painting. Touching. Kissing. Moaning.

Just a few days ago, they had talked of going swimming in the lake, now that temperatures were getting warmer, of sleeping outside under the stars on a bed of fragrant violets.

He felt nauseous.

He had been so stupid. So naïve. He had forgotten that the Beast was his captor, his jailer. He had forgotten and was now paying the price. _Stupid Timothée._ He cried bitter tears until, finally, he fell asleep. He was awakened by the sound of a crying child.


	27. Mea maxima culpa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected guests arrive at the castle.  
> Beast and Timothée talk about what happened between them and how Armand was turned into a monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING This chapter has mentions of rape, pedophilia and suicide. If this is triggering, skip it and know that everything’s good with our characters.
> 
> Thank you so much for all your kind and invested comments. They are a joy to read! 
> 
> PS Things are going to get frantic. Any idea about what will happen next?
> 
> Title means ‘through my greatest fault’ in Latin.

 

Timothée was awakened by the sound of a crying child. It was a boy judging by his wails. The Beast was trying to soothe him.

 _A child? Here?_ He shivered. _Beast, what have you done?_

Tim ran, dagger in hand, ready to pounce. He froze at the end of the stairs.

A boy of 7 or 8 years of age was clinging to the Beast’s neck, trying to climb over his body to escape a curious Spartacus who was sniffing his dangling feet. The dog barked excitedly and the boy whimpered while the Beast was hushing him, telling him to not be afraid. An older girl, huddled at the Beast’s side, was looking at the scene, an amused expression on her face.

_What the Hell?_

“Spartacus, come here”, Tim called. As the dog ran to to his side, tail thumping enthusiastically, three set of eyes turned to him. The girl paled and hid behind the Beast, the boy started sobbing uncontrollably.

“Shh, shh. It’s ok, it’s ok”, pleaded the Beast. “Timothée, please, put aside that dagger. You are scaring the children”.

He blinked. _Why would the children be afraid of me?_

And yet, as he approached the trio warily, Tim noticed that yes, the children were clinging to the Beast for dear life, and looking at him with a mix of disgust (the girl) and sheer terror (the boy).

“What the fuck is going on?” He stared angrily at the Beast, saw him lower his eyes before sighing.

“I’ll explain later”, he said, “please Timothée. Give me your dagger”.

“You wished”, he spat. “No way”.

The Beast flinched.

As they looked at each other, sad expression met cold gaze.

“Fine, Timothée, but you won’t need it, I swear”.

“Nobody will need weapons here”, he said, speaking softly to the children. “This is my home. You are safe. Nobody will hurt you. Timothée is no threat. I trust him with my life”, the Beast said.

“Yet, he not trust you”, the girl said.

She had pale blond hair, Tim noticed, almost white, and grey eyes, quite mesmerizing. They looked like they tried to reach inside him, to discover his deepest secrets. He swallowed – she was no ordinary child for sure. Her skin was very fair, except for a big bruise that covered her entire left cheek.

Timothée frowned at the sight, she had been badly hit. Who would hurt a child like that?

 _Could the Beast…?_ No, he refused to think that.

Besides, the girl was hugging the Beast and eyeing suspiciously at Tim, of all people. Not the kind of behaviour you would expect if she had been hurt by the big creature at her side. Although she had noticed right away Tim’s distrust for the owner of the castle.

The Beast bent down, to be at her level. “Timothée doesn’t trust me because I behaved very badly towards him”, he whispered. “He has every right to be mad at me. But please believe me when I say that he’s a good man, and no threat to you or your brother”. He tucked a stray wisp of pale hair behind her ear. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you, ok? And neither will he”, he said, turning to face Tim.

 _Please_ , his eyes seemed to beg. _Help me here._

Tim swallowed and nodded. _They are just scared children,_ he thought. He went near them and handed the girl his dagger. “Take it”, he said, “you can use it”.

“I not want your presents”, she hissed, and hid her face in the Beast’s neck.

“I, uhm, it’s not a present”, he smiled sweetly. “It’s mine, why would I gift it to you?” She looked at him under her eyelashes, a curious smirk on her face.

“I like my dagger very much, I wouldn’t want to gift it to a stranger”, he continued. “It’s just on loan, so that you know that I’m unarmed”.

She quirked her mouth, grabbed it quickly and hid it in her skirt.

 _Thank you_ , mouthed the Beast. Tim nodded and turned to look at the boy.

He had the same blond hair as his sister, but his eyes were dark brown and his facial features a bit different from the girl’s. Said boy was now jumping from one foot to the other, probably needing to pee.

“We have same father, our mother is not same”, the girl said, having noticed his gaze. Her way of talking was a bit broken and Timothée wondered what her mother tongue was. They were evidently very much strangers to these lands, possibly just traveling from a place to another.

“Well, your little brother needs to pee, so… follow me, the bathroom is this way”.

“No bathroom, we go in the fields”, she hissed.

Timothée sighed _why does she hate me so much?_ and went to open the main door. The children scampered outside in the dark.

“The fuck is going on?”, he yelled to the Beast. “Where are their parents? God, what have you done?”

The Beast groaned. “Not now, I beg of you”.

“What? You must be crazy if you think I won’t ask”.

“I’m tired, Tim. The past days have been-”

“Your clothes are bloodied”, he unrelented. “What have you done?”

“They are coming back right now. Please, Tim. They are just children!”

“Yes, they are”, he snarled, before closing the door after them.

The girl threw herself into the Beast’s arms and scowled at Tim. The boy was still looking around, suspicious.

“Are you hungry?”, Tim asked. “When was the last time you ate something?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Berries this afternoon”.

“Listen, you have to eat something. I’m sure we will find something in the kitchen”.

“No”.

“Timothée is right”, intervened the Beast. “Do you trust me? Please don’t be scared. I won’t ever hurt you”.

The girl watched him calmly. “I’m not scared by you. I know what you are”. She smiled and hugged the Beast fondly. “I can see you are a krsnik. I knew father would send someone to save us”.

 _A what?_ , thought Tim. Never mind, the children were starved, they needed to eat. Explanations could wait.

Still, as he saw how easily the girl trusted the Beast and how sweetly he hugged her, the lump that was lodged in his throat dissolved. The fear inside Tim melted and turned into something resembling a soft longing.

After he and the Beast had both accepted to share some as well, Tim finally convinced the children to have stew and bread. He discovered he was starved and the Beast also looked like he needed sustenance - he seemed exhausted.

The progress Timothée hoped to have made with the children was erased when he tried to show them their bedroom.

“No bed”, said the girl, arms crossed over her chest. “We sleep here”.

“In the foyer? No. You don’t”, said Tim. “This place has many free rooms-”.

“No room”, she retorted, looking purposely to the Beast.

“Of course you can sleep here”, he said.

“No. They will not sleep on the floor, like animals. Or prisoners in a cell”, Tim protested, bitter gaze not unnoticed by the Beast.

He sighed - he had been letting Tim play host, he wanted the children to accept him. But he didn’t understand what was going on. _It’s all my fault,_ he sighed.

“Timothée, it’s ok. Let them sleep where they wish”.

“They are little children, this is absurd!”

“Tim, please, we’ll make it nice for them”. He went to climb up the stairs, looking for blankets and pillows.

It was then that Tim noticed the light limp in the Beast’s right leg. He swallowed. _What the hell is going on tonight?_

The children settled quickly in the makeshift bed -the boy immediately falling asleep on his sister’s shoulder.

“Rest child”, the Beast said to her, kissing her forehead in a tender gesture. “You are safe here. I will be upstairs, if you need anything just call for me.”

She nodded, glared again at Tim and closed her eyes.

 

_ _ _

 

“Are you hurt?”

“It’s nothing”.

“You are limping though, it doesn’t seem like nothing”.

“Please. Don’t pretend you still care”, the Beast said drily.

“Are you serious? It’s me that has every reason to be mad and you-”

“I need you to do me a favour, Tim”.

“You must be joking”.

“Please, lower your tone. They are sleeping”.

At that, they both turned to look at the children, huddled together near the fireplace. A giggle escaped both their lips as they saw a stealthy Spartacus crawling slowly under the covers and lying on his side to spoon the boy.

“He’s the best”. “Yes, he is”.

On the landing, they really looked at each other for the first time after what had happened.

“I am sorry, Tim. I owe you more than an explanation, but I truly don’t know what to say so… I’ll just start by asking you a favor”.

Timothée arched his eyebrow.

“Yes, I know. Please follow me. I swear I won’t touch you”, he said as he entered his bedroom.

Tim eyed him warily and saw him cross the room.

“Here-”, the Beast said, removing a big painting from the wall, “is the safe. This is how you open it”.

A bewildered Tim was shown an abundance of paper money, bonds, silver and golden coins, jewelry, gemstones.

“… is everything clear?”, he heard faintly.

“What?”

“Please, focus Timothée. This is very important. With these riches you can live very comfortably. I want you to know how you can access them”.

“Why are you saying this to me?, he whispered, afraid.

“Tonight I’ll return to the woods, check for hunters. I’ll try to mess up the tracks, to make them follow me far from here, to lead them away from you. But- If I don’t come back in two days, I want you to take the children, the money and run. Can you do this for me, Tim? I’m leaving you Sombre and Spartacus. With the horse you’ll run fast and my dog will protect you all”. The Beast grabbed his shoulders. “Fuck, Tim, are you even listening to me?”

“What do you mean, if you don’t come back in two days?”

“I might die. It’s a distinct possibility. And if it happens, I want you to leave this place immediately. I imagine the magic will lift from here, people might come… You wouldn’t be safe”.

Suddenly Tim’s mouth felt parched. “You are scaring me. What the hell is happening? Tell me something, for once!”, he whined.

The Beast sat on the bed. “After what had happened here, between us, I didn’t know what to do. I felt ashamed and I imagined you wouldn’t want me near”, he looked at Tim and saw a confirming gaze. _Of course he hates me,_ he winced.

“I decided to turn to the woods. It’s one of few places that bring me peace. But this time, as soon as I got there, I perceived something evil and I felt the call of the hunt. It would do my spirits good to chase something - I know this might make no sense to you”. _Or even scare you to death_ , he thought.

Tim shivered. “Go on”.

“I followed the tracks and I found them. Predators had captured their preys and were dragging them to their den. I followed from a distance”. He stopped to to take a deep breath. “Have you ever thought about what I did when I was away from here, Tim? How I spent my days or nights when I wasn’t with you?”

He shook his head.

“I went hunting, Tim”, he said with a glint in his eyes. “At times, dangerous animals but mostly men. Very bad men”.

“Most of the times a scare would be enough but- When I first met you, I heard them, Tim. I heard what they planned to do with you. And it disgusted me. After I brought you here, I kept observing – you were not the first to fall into their trap. There were others before, and others after, in places far from here. People talk when they walk the paths collecting wood, when they push their carts to the markets…”.

Tim was shivering by then. “What did you discover?”

“The Duc and his friends had a penchant for raping and torturing children and youths. You were too old for their tastes, apparently, but since there had been investigations concerning the disappearing of some girls up north they had to avoid drawing attention to the area, at least for a while. You would do in the meantime”.

Tim paled. _Abbé Jacques was right to be scared for me._

“When I saved you, I killed the men who were bringing you to the Duc. He got suspicious and decided to stop for some time. But I had no way of knowing this, so I kept patrolling the woods, looking for tracks and informations - I fully intended to stop this shit once and for all. Then with this winter’s heavy snows, he and his friends got stuck with no way to indulge in their favourite ‘pastimes’. Apparently they decided it was time to start again. By now I had enough evidence – and as I saw the children being grabbed in the woods, while they were foraging, I knew without a doubt that my time had come. I saw the girl biting hard the hand of one of the men, drawing blood - that’s when he hit her hard. I wanted to kill him right there, but I kept quiet and followed them to the palace”.

“What did you do then?”, Tim asked, already knowing the answer.

“I killed them all – the Duc, his friends and the creeps who had brought the children. I slaughtered five men”, the Beast murmured.

“Well, you did right”, Tim barked. “Don’t doubt it”.

The Beast looked at him open-mouthed.

“I know what you think when you look at me. But I’m no angel or saint or person of exemplary virtue”, Tim snorted. “I would have done the same”.

“Taking a life is no light matter, Timothée. But don’t worry, I do not regret it”, he exhaled.

“I had to leave quickly, before the arrival of the guards. I jumped through the window with the children in my arms. I twisted my ankle, nothing a little rest won’t cure, and ran. We kept hidden in the caves until I felt it safe to come back here”.

“And what now? What do you plan to do?”, asked Timothée.

“I need to rest, today. Then I’ll go to the woods, see how things are. I bet there are hunting parties all over the region. If I succeed in confusing them and sending them far from here, I will come back and look for the children’s family. Have you seen their appearance, Tim, their accent? They are gipsies, travelling through these lands – I’m pretty sure they are in hiding right now, near the border. But they are surely looking for the kids - they don’t abandon members of their clan”.

“Do you know their names?”

“No, I don’t. They believe a name has great power. Children are taught to not reveal it to strangers”.

“But you are no stranger to them by now. Well, to the girl at least-”

“Yeah, the boy is too shy, or scared, to interact much”.

“She said you are a krast, a krsnik or something like that… Do you know what does it mean?

“I have no idea. I bet is some kind of mythical figure, a protector of sorts”.

“Makes sense”, Tim nodded and sat on the bed, near the Beast. “Why are they scared of me, though?”

The Beast sighed. “Look at you”.

Tim shot him a quizzical look.

“You are beautiful, well dressed, clean and sweet smelling. You are in a big sumptuous home. You look like the typical asshole nobleman and -seeing that they almost got raped - a potentially dangerous pervert”.

Tim winced. _No, I’m not!_ “Like Armand, you mean?”

The Beast winced. _Touché, I guess._ “Yes, I’ve been an arrogant bastard, but I’ve never, ever, forced myself on anyone, man or woman, much less a child. Tim, have mercy! You cannot think this of me”.

“No. Of course not. I don’t think this of you. Never”, he sighed.

“Please, Tim, promise me”, the Beast took Tim’s hand in his, happy to see that he didn’t recoil from his touch. “Swear to me that if I don’t come back in two days you’ll flee”.

“I’ll protect the children, find their family, yes”, he nodded.

“But will you be safe?”, the Beast whimpered. “I need to know you’ll be safe”.

“I promise. I will”, he looked at him sadly. “But we need to talk about us, you know”.

“I know. We will. Now”, nodded the Beast.

 

~

 

“What the hell happened? Why did you treat me like that?”

The Beast swallowed. _Better to speak or to die?_ He had read those words in a book and at the time he had wondered. Speaking was obviously the course of action for any brave man, while dying was a choice rooted in fear. What kind of a man was he? A coward, he would say seeing the recent events concerning Tim, but the idea of being so close to his very likely demise spurred him to speak. He was already dead inside, since that fateful day when he had hurt Tim. What difference would it make? He owed him an explanation, but didn’t want to possibly hurt him even more in the process.

“Tim, I have to tell you – I’ve been ordered to not talk to you about my previous life and how I came to be a beast. I- I truly don’t know if I should- Fuck”, he wringed his hands.

“I want to know. I need to know”.

He swallowed. “I was so scared when you saw my portrait. I was sure you would die. God, I-”

“You mean you feared I would be turned into a statue?”, said Tim.

“What?” The Beast choked. “You knew? How?”

“I didn’t know. But I wondered. I’m an artist after all, as you always repeat to me when I doubt myself. And these statues, they make no sense. They are not happy cherubs or ancient Muses or something. They so realistic that they become creepy, in a way”.

“Yes, they do”.

“When I first came here… All this magic felt wrong, plain wrong. But then it’s so easy to, you know, become complacent. Having everything you need at your disposal is so convenient, I almost forgot but…”

“I know, Tim. I know. I tried to shelter you from the worst but- Fuck”. He swallowed.

“A witch is responsible for this magic. She turned me into this… ugly creature, half man half monster. I was bad back then. Arrogant, selfish, self-seeking. I didn’t care about anyone or anything. I spent my days drinking, fucking, hunting and making life miserable for my servants. Nothing was good enough for me, nothing ever lived up to my expectations. Everything and everyone disappointed me. Such a pompous arse!” _God, I need something to drink._ The Beast went and downed a glass of eau-de-vie, before remembering how bad he had felt the last night he got drunk. Alcohol had mingled with sad thoughts, full of anguish for Tim. He closed the bottle. _I guess my penchant for drinking in excess is definitely over._

“I was a mess – I had the world at my disposal but I felt so wretched. My parents had died by then, I was rich and free to do as I pleased and yet nothing would keep my interest for long. I loathed my life and I enjoyed making people unhappy. I made fun of everyone, especially ugly and ignorant people. I felt so above everyone else. God, I am so ashamed to think how stupid I was, how cruel”.

Tim was watching him, a sorrowful expression on his face. _I bet he hates me so much right now_ , thought the Beast.

“One night I gave this lavish ball. The halls were filled with beautiful people, elegantly clothed. We were all enjoying ourselves, when this pitiful woman, covered in rags, came in. She was ugly and dirty, covered in scabs. I recoiled from the sight and went to slap my servant who had let her in. I didn’t notice how dazed he was, like under a spell”, he sighed.

“I screamed at her, told her horrible things and shoved her away. She fell and I laughed. I didn’t mean to phisically hurt her but… oh, I found it so hilarious. She turned, looked at me and just nodded, a grim expression on her face. She vanished into thin air”.

“I felt something was wrong. I should have paid more attention but… I distracted myself with drinking and dancing. The party ended, everyone went home and… The morning after, when I woke up- I was like this, how you see me now”.

“She spoke to me, you know, at times just in my mind, other times in person. To let me know I was being punished. I don’t know for how long her retribution has been going on. Time has stood still for me and Spartacus. And for my servants, of course – they also have been punished for my wrongdoings. I don’t know why she let my dog be but… then I found you and-”

The Beast choked. “She said I was not to let you know about my past and I was truly afraid she would hurt you as well, to keep punishing me. I thought since you had seen my face, and understood who I was, that she would kill you or turn you or something equally horrible. I care about you, Tim, I do. _More than you’ll ever know_. But, I want to be completely honest with you. The truth is I was a coward. I didn’t want to see that happening. I didn’t want to see you being turned into a statue. I put you in the dungeons to not see it happen - it would have been too much”.

“I see… But I’m not sure I get the why. I mean, after all, all these people are statues and-”

“They meant nothing. I never cared for them as I care for you”, he sighed. “Although, you know, in time, I started missing them. Their features and personalities. _Who would have thought?_ Probably beacuse in addition to being coward and awful I am now a pathetic recluse. Sometimes life gives you harsh lessons”.

“What happened then? After you were turned?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes, please”.

“I raged and screamed and cried for days, weeks, months. I ripped my portrait, but vanity made me keep it after all - it is now dust, as it should have been already. After some time I felt I had no tears left and nothing to lose so I thought about killing myself”.

Tim gasped.

“Want to know what kept me alive? I wasn’t sure what would happen to Spartacus if I died. Would he be turned to stone as well, as punishment for me taking the easy way out? I didn’t want to risk it. Too many people had suffered already because of me. So I thought ‘hey, you have a big library here, that you ignored for years, by the way’ and I started to read. A lot. It’s not like I had anything better to do. And I discovered I loved reading, well, I had loved it as a child, before Alwen left and my life turned to shit. I started taking long walks, running in the woods… I decided to even get back to studying, go figure. Latin, which I had found so boring, physics, geography… I-”, he stopped seeing how Tim was looking at him, bemused.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me”.

“Guess you needed to talk about it, after all?”, Tim smirked.

“I turned this into a show about me. I’m truly pathetic”, the Beast groaned, looking ashamed. “I should have just been apologizing to you and instead I’m talking about me. This has nothing to do with how I treated you, Tim. I… I have no words for that. I won’t even try to beg for your forgiveness. I know that it’s not possible. I just want to say that I am truly and deeply sorry. I freaked out and I fucked everything between us. God, I don’t know what I can say. I am deeply ashamed of what I’ve done”.

“You hurt me. You have no idea how much”, Tim whispered. “I trusted you and you betrayed me. I don’t know if-”. He shook his head. “But you could have lied to me right now. Told me you threw me into a cell to save me, hide me from the witch or some other bullshit. You didn’t”.

“I am trying Tim. I am truly trying to be good, to do good. But it’s hard”.

“Rescuing these children was no small thing”.

The Beast shrugged his shoulders. “You would have done the same”.

“And Armand?”

“I can’t be sure. But I hope he would have done the right thing as well”.

Timothée nodded. “Good night, Beast. Rest now, you’ll need your strength tomorrow”.

 

The Beast looked at Tim leaving his room.

There was no way to know what was in store for him, for them. And yet, he felt hopeful.

Tim would be safe. With or without him.


	28. Fortitudo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timothée and the children and the Beast and his mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the horribly belated update - life and work got in the way in a major mode.  
> Thanks to those of you who wrote to inquire and tell me that you were waiting for an update. Don’t worry, I won’t ever not finish this. I love Tim and Beast and you too much.  
> Again, thank you for your comments, they make this frightening writing endeavour worthwhile. At times it’s hard - seeing how many talented writers are in this gorgeous fanfic community - to show your drabbles to the world. It’s a humbling experience for sure.  
> So… I hope this chapter was worth the wait. Next one up soon.
> 
> Title means ‘courage’ in Latin

 

The Beast was awakened by the sound of laughing children.

He went to the window and saw Timothée drawing in his notebook, quick sketches of brother and sister playing together. They had dressed up Spartacus in frilly blouse and lace bloomers ( _probably found them in the attic_ , the Beast thought) and were now giggling incontrollably.

Tim was shaking his head at their antics and showing them a drawing of the pitiful dog who, in his rendition, was also sporting a big hat decorated with peacock feathers.

The Beast smiled. _So far so good_.

The girl tilted her head up, noticed him watching and called. “Come, wait you with breakfast”.

At that, Tim turned, saw him and gave him a shy little smile.

 _Yes, so far so good_ , he nodded.

 

~

 

The roars coming from the Beast were powerful enough to give thrills and chills to the children, but soft enough to not actually scare them.

Timothée smirked.

This facet of ‘the late’ Marquis Armand was unexpected to say the least. He was chasing the children through the courtyard, letting an exhausted Spartacus rest - after the dog had played with them for what seemed like hours. Their high-pitched giggles reminded Tim of a few childhood afternoons of his own, when he had spun in a circle with some friends till he got dizzy, before falling to the ground panting, feeling happy and silly and tired.

He kept drawing, occasionally stealing glances to the unexpected group - he wanted to capture this moment of unhinged playfulness.

The boy - who had been so shy at the beginning - seemed to have thawed a bit, following his sister’s example in trusting the Beast. The girl - oh, my - she clinged to him like he was her knight in shining armour.

 _Well, I guess he is to her, after all,_ Tim pondered _._ _I think she might be a bit in love with the Beast_ , he mused, remembering how strong his emotions had been circa her age, when he first had a crush on Madeline Troudeau.

This strange girl was so unusual with her unsettling gaze - eyes much older and wiser than her years - that Tim wondered if she could almost see Armand in the Beast in front of her.

At last she seemed to have relaxed with Tim as well, starting the morning. It was almost like she knew about the conversation that had taken place the night before between him and the Beast. _She is just so perceptive_ , he thought. _Wonder if her distrust in me had more to do with her affection for the Beast than anything else. She probably didn’t like my coldness towards him…_

After the talk, tension had lessened considerably between the men.

Timothée understood the Beast more clearly and although he couldn’t forget - or forgive, for now -his hurtful behaviour, he felt moved by his sincere pain. And by his willingness to do what was right, for the children and for him, if his mission was to have an unfortunate ending.

Timothée shuddered.

He didn’t want to take into consideration that possibility - he wasn’t willing to believe that after everything they had gone through they would part their ways in such a cruel way. _Not now._ _Not like this._

He felt the Beast’s intense gaze upon him and looked up. He was observing him, a sweet smile gracing his lips. Tim blushed.

It had been quite some time since they had looked at each other like this, almost caught in a bubble, each wondering what the other was feeling. It was the kind of look that in the past had made them forget whatever they were doing and cross a room, or garden or stable, fluttering towards one another like moths to a flame - foreheads touching, breaths mingling, hands clutching at chemise or coat, necks offering themselves to pecking lips.

 _Fuck_ , Tim thought. Just thinking about these matters was enough to make him feel all hot and bothered.

He swallowed.

 _Yes, so far so good,_ the Beast nodded to himself.

Timothée went back to his drawings. He didn’t want to think about what was in store later, with the Beast gone. He truly hoped, with the Duke dead, that everything would turn out fine. The mere idea of such creeps roaming the streets of his country made his stomach drop in disgust.

Snorts and giggles made him turn his head.

“Lend me a hand will you, Tim? Three to one it’s so not fair!”, the Beat pouted - he was on the ground, belly down, smothered under the weight of the children crawling on his back. Spartacus was licking his face.

“Why, big boy, can’t you defend yourself from a couple children and a dog?”, he chuckled, setting aside his notebook and getting near.

“We strong”, said the girl. “Yes, too strong” said her giggling brother.

“Help me, Tim. Save me from these savages”, the Beast whimpered, hand stretched in a dramatic plea.

“Oh, you are right, three is so not fair. Four is much better”, Tim said as he let himself fall on the Beast’s back, effectively squashing him into the grass, to the children’s delight.

“Hey, you were supposed to help me, not them barbarians”, he tried to protest.

“Shut up”, retorted Tim with a chuckle.

Chuckle that quickly turned into a surprised gasp when the Beast started tickling him.

“Come on, enfants. Let’s tickle Tim!”

“What? Wait! Nooo!” But it was too late and they all turned against him - the whole thing ending in a mess of limbs flailing everywhere, followed by snorts and happy tears as everyone was tickled in turns.

As the laughs subsided, the Beast sighed. _Such a lovely way to spend a day_ , he mused watching the sun set.

He tucked a curl behind Tim’s ear, sadness gripping him. “It’s time. I have to go now”.

“Nooo”, the girl threw herself in his arms.

“Listen, child…”

“Bojana. My name Bojana. And my brother Alojz”, she sobbed in his chest.

Tim and the Beast looked at each other. Was the telling of their names a declaration of deep trust or a bad omen of some sort?

The Beast caressed the girl’s hair. “Bojana, you know I have to go. I need to check and see that we are safe to look for your family. You know that, right?”

“I don’t want you to go”, she wailed.

He hugged her tightly and swallowed. “Neither do I, believe me”, he said, eyes fixed on Timothée as he spoke.

The idea of leaving Tim so soon after what had taken place - truce between them still so fragile, vulnerable like a butterfly’s wings - was dreadful. Especially thinking about what might happen. He shivered. “If I don’t return, Tim knows what to do. I need you to trust him and obey him. Am I clear?”

She looked up, at the sky, as if trying to read something in the clouds. “You come back, I know”.

“I hope you are right, child. In the meantime, trust Tim, please”.

She nodded glumly.

The Beast stood and helped Timothée up as the crying girl ran into the castle, brother and dog following her steps.

“Do you remember everything I told you?”, he croaked.

Tim nodded, biting his lower lip. “Do you think-? I mean-? Do you believe-?”

“I’ll do my best to come back”, the Beast nodded. “But if I don’t- I want you to know that-”

He hugged Timothée - having him in his arms felt so good, so right. _Just say it, you idiot. Say it. Tell him how you feel. Tell him how you wished to be better for him. How you wished you could give him the world._

“Tim, I-”, he choked. “I cannot say how much-”

 _I love you, Tim. I love you so much_ , he whispered in his heart, not daring to express his feelings out loud.

“It’s ok. You… You just go. Do what you need to do”, Tim nodded. _Fuck, Tim,_ _be strong. You cannot look scared. Show him that you are a grown man, that you can handle this responsibility._

“Of course, Tim. Be safe. You promised me”. He kissed his forehead and turned to leave.

“Beast? Wait, I mean… Armand? I-”

“Armand is dead, Tim”, the Beast exhaled. _Fucker’s done too much damage already._ “And he won’t come back. But you can call me Armie if you wish. That’s what Alwen used to do”, he shrugged.

“We’ll wait for you, Armie. All of us will”, Tim murmured. “Just come back”.

 

~

 

The children were very quiet after the Beast left.

A gloomy atmosphere had settled on the castle. Later that evening, as Tim prepared their makeshift bed on the foyer’s floor, it was Bojana who spoke first.

“He come back. I know”.

“Of course”, Tim nodded, wanting to comfort her, fake smile plastered on his face. But she rolled her eyes.

“I say because I know! I not stupid. No silly”.

Timothée sighed. “I know you are very wise. And brave. We all have to be brave, you know?”

She exhaled and went to hug her brother to sleep, but suddenly turned, like she was forgetting to say something quite important. “My krsnik no Beast. Not call him that”, she growled, finger pointing at Tim.

Timothée smiled to Bojana. He had been right then, thinking she didn’t like the coldness between him and the Beast. _Armie. His name is Armie._ She was so fiercely protective of her friend. _Has she heard us talk? Or does she just know everything?_

As Spartacus lied down beside the children to defend them in their sleep, Tim went to his room, well aware that Morpheus would evade him for as long as the Beast was gone.

 

_ _ _

 

Two days went by and the Beast was nowhere to be seen.

Tim dreaded the notion that come next morning he would have to take Bojana and Alojz and run.

The children at first had been anxious and didn’t want to leave the castle - the first day they stayed inside, drawing and exploring every nook and cranny of the place, their mood sour.

Tim discovered that Alojz had musical talent and knew how to play the flute - which had _magically,_ _of course_ , appeared in the study - so he tried to accompany him at the piano. No activity had cheered the children up.

Hours seemed to drag for days on end and by the second morning Bojana and Alojz were so unsettled and jumpy that Tim decided to take them to the berm. A horse ride and fresh air would do them all good.

Seeing the boy try to catch fish in the stream and the girl do cartwheels on the grass he felt somewhat calmer. _I can do this_ , he thought. _I have to._

As they turned towards the castle later in the day, though, the disheartened mood started to resurface. Tim lead Sombre to a safe trot - he didn’t wish to be out when night came.

As they neared the rose garden, Bojana touched his arm.

“You know, right?”

“What?”, he asked absentmindedly.

“Road to outside. There. Roses”.

“What are you talking about?”

She pointed to the end of the garden, an area that in all of his past explorations Tim has skipped, seeing how thorny it was. The bushes looked ominous, thick with dense, sharp spikes.

“You go out. There”, she said.

He shivered. _Could it be true?_ All this time he had been searching for a way to leave and... Just now…

“Why are you telling me this?”, he asked. “What do you know about these things?”

“I know”, she said. “Now you know”. Her pale grey eyes were smiling enigmatically, as if she knew a secret that Tim was trying to uncover without success.

He nodded meekly. _Child, what are you?_

“Tonight we no sleep on floor. Bed”, she said.

“Sure, as you wish”, Timothée answered, still puzzled by the conversation, turning to look at the beautiful and deadly red roses.

After dinner, the children ran upstairs and Tim went outside to check again windows and doors before bolting them. As he looked into the darkness, hoping to spot a familiar figure approaching, he prayed, for the first time after a long stretch.

Back inside, he heard the brothers talking softly in the Beast’s room.

“What are you doing here?”, he asked, a bit startled at seeing them comfortable under the sheets.

“We sleep here”, the girl whispered, a bold expression on her face.

Tim sat on the corner of the bed and took in Alojz hugging Spartacus, _what a change from a couple days ago_ , the Dogue de Bordeaux licking his hands. Bojana was sniffing the Beast’s pillow.

His expression softened. “It smells of him, right?”

“Safe”, she said.

“Yes. He smells safe”, he nodded. It was something that had puzzled him at first. How, even if his appearance was frightening, the Beast smelled of comfort and earth and warmth.

“Stay?”, she asked, anguish barely concealed for her brother’s sake.

Tim went to retrieve a blanket and lied on top of the sheets, dagger at the ready under his pillow.

“Everything will be fine, I swear”, he whispered to Bojana.

She sighed and tossed and turned before finally falling asleep.

 

~

 

Later - many hours later, almost at dawn - the Beast found them all together. The children in the middle, looking even smaller in the enormous bed, flanked by Spartacus and Timothée at each side.

 _Such strong protectors_ , he smiled softly.

His shaky fingers went to stroke a dark curl, not expecting Tim to open his eyes.

“Keep sleeping”, he whispered sweetly.

“You are here. You are back”, Tim gasped and threw his arms around his neck.

The Beast chuckled. “You are happy to see me, after all?”

“Silly Beast! I was so scared. I-”, he shivered.

They looked at each other and the Beast kissed his temple.

“I’m here. It’s ok”.

Tim took in his disheveled appearance, the cuts on his hands and face, his torn clothes. They were telling a story, but he didn’t need to know it, at least for now.

“Sleep with us”, he said, sliding towards the middle, making space for the Beast under his blanket.

He lied down and hugged Tim to his chest. “I’m glad to be here”, he murmured before closing his eyes, a slight tremor shaking his frame.

“Rest”. Timothée whispered as he kissed his bruised knuckles. “You are safe now”.


	29. Cogitationes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After they find their way back to the children’s clan, Tim makes a new friend and the Beast comes to a conclusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, so many thanks to Klaudia Mihalj for her help with Croatian!   
> (Also, whatever I write about this people it's probably 1000% not correct and all my fault, suspension of disbelief hoped, here)
> 
> Aside from that... What can I say? Life sometimes sucks and you can only ‘hibernate’, taking care of you at the best of your possibilities. (That includes reading fanfic!)   
> To the faithful readers still here and to those that have inquired about me, thanks! Every comment is a balm for weary souls. Thank you so much!  
> I’m back on the saddle, hope this long(ish) chapter won’t disappoint you. 
> 
> NB As for my original characters: slavic/serbo-croatian name Bojana should mean ‘battle’, Alojz something along the lines of ‘famous warrior’ and Vuk is related to ‘wolf’. Proud names for proud people.
> 
> Title means ‘thoughts’ in Latin

 

The Beast sat on a tree stump, looking at the red flames in front of him.

Thick branches were crackling in the soaring fire.

A fire was big enough to fill the air with the smoky smell of cedar and pine. High enough to challenge the dark of the night.

No one wished to hide anymore. ‘We are here. We will slay all who attempt to attack us’, the proud flames seemed to announce.

There were people laughing, some dancing to the sound of a fiddle and cheap, makeshift instruments. Some were eating the boar meat that had been roasting on the side.

Children were running amok, Bojana and Alojz happy to join again their friends from the encampment.

As he surveyed the scene, the Beast noticed the gazes - full of wonder and fear, but mostly wonder - of the clan’s men and women. These people were used to myths, still believers of the Ancient Religion. Not easily scared by the presence of a krsnik (yes, that’s what he was to them, since Bojana’s retelling of their adventures).

Still, he heard them gasp, with ill-concealed worry, as they saw Vuk, their leader and the children’s father, sit beside him.

The older man looked around, taking in the whole campground.

“I have to thank you again. Hvala. Od srca zahvaljujem. Bojana and Alojz are my life. I cannot repay you for what you did for them, for us”.

“Don’t mention it. They are good, your children. You must be very proud”.

“Proud? Proud, yes. Ponosan sam”, he smiled. “I was worried. Very worried”.

The Beast nodded.

“You must have noticed - Bojana is not like any other child. She’s quite special”.

He turned towards the man.

“She takes from her mother, you know. My first wife. She was the love of my life”, he swallowed. “She died too young, of influenza, when Bojana was 7. She had been caring for the sick and caught it herself. They say gifted people die young because they burn too bright”. He sighed, “I hope they are wrong”.

He was looking at his daughter, the Beast noticed.

“Bojana is strong and brave. She’ll be good”.

A soft smile curled the lips of the burly man, who got so tender when speaking of his daughter.

“You see, my wife was a healer. You may call her a witch, one of the good ones, you see. She knew the medicinal properties of all kind of herbs - although no one can conquer death, right?", he sighed.

"She was very perceptive, very in tune with Nature and the Spirits. Bojana is like her, in a way. She feels things very strongly, but mostly she has the ‘sight’. She sees things as they are, as they are meant to be. Things that are hidden to most eyes, she uncovers”.

The man exhaled. “Sometimes she almost scares me. In a couple of occasions, she… she saw things before they happened”.

The Beast wondered what the girl saw when she looked at him.

Beautiful Armand, maybe? Or something altogether different, usually hidden from the gaze of shallow eyes? It sure felt like she read his soul any time she looked at him and, unbelievably, liked what she saw.

Vuk gritted his teeth and turned to the Beast. “Now tell me all about the men who tried to take her and my son away from me”.

 

~

 

As the Beast ended his tale recalling their earlier meeting in the clearing, he felt his companion tense up and followed his gaze.

Timothée was stumbling towards the dancing crowd, obviously quite inebriated, laughing at something a blonde boy his age was whispering to his ear. It was the same boy from before, the one who had brought them the horse. “A meager gift from us all, to try and repay a priceless debt”, the father had said.

They had attempted to decline, at first, saying they hadn’t helped wishing for a compensation of any sorts, but in the end didn’t want to insult this proud people.

Sombre was too big and wild for Tim to ride comfortably anyways, and he’d been delighted in seeing the calmer - and smaller - white horse.

The boy who had shown him his new mount, Troye was his name, had been similarly delighted in Tim, judging by the way he had smiled with adoration when he had asked him to tell him everything about the horse.

They had disappeared in a fit of giggles and were only now rejoining the celebration.

Vuk stood up, anger evident on his face, but the Beast stopped him.

“I won’t have you disrespected here”, he hissed. “By one of my people”.

“Let them be. They are just having fun”.

“I thought you and the boy…”

“It’s… complicated. I’m happy if he’s happy”, he said, as he saw Tim jumping around the fire, dancing like no one was watching.

At that, Vuk left him alone with his thoughts.

The Beast couldn’t avoid noticing how the blonde was looking at Tim. Such hunger in those pretty eyes of his.

Pretty, yes. Troye was very pretty, smaller and thinner than Tim, who had muscled up between eating good food and sparring with him all winter. _They’d make a cute couple_ , he mused, and felt a pang of jealousy in his stomach.

Here he was - equally feared and admired by all these strange, brave people - and he would trade it all to be that skinny youth dancing with Timothée. _My Tim._

As if he had heard his thoughts, the dark-haired boy turned and blushed at seeing his heated gaze.

He left Troye - who first grabbed his wrist, trying to keep him dancing, and on a second thought let him go with a disappointed sigh - and came wobbling towards him.

“Come dance with me”, he said, his hand extended. “You are the only one not having fun”.

“Oh, but I’m having fun, watching you getting drunk”.

“I’m not drunk, just tipsy”, he chuckled sitting on his lap.

“Dance with me”, Tim mouthed at his neck. “Come”.

He suppressed a shiver at his hot breath so near his skin. _Get a grip, you idiot, he’s practically drunk._ But couldn’t stop letting out a strangled moan when he felt Tim’s teeth nibbling at his throat.

“I want to dance. Come”.

“Why don’t you go dance with your new friend?”, he blurted.

Tim sighed and rubbed his forehead on his chest. “Troye tried to kiss me”.

“And?”

“I told him you wouldn’t like it”.

He tilted Tim’s face towards him and looked deep into his eyes. “Did you think I would get mad at you? At him?”

The boy shrugged and stood up. “Come dance”.

“In a while”, he croaked. “You go, now”.

As Tim rejoined the dancing crowd, the Beast folded on himself, feeling all air leave his lungs, as if he’d been badly hit.

Timothée’s ‘you are the only one not having fun’ was such an innocent remark, after all (and he had refused Troye’s advances).

And yet… had Tim been right? Or, better question, had he ever been happy? Recently or… ever?

Thing is, the joy he once lamented to have lost forever had been nothing. It had been a lie, an obtuse lie. What real joy could he recall from his previous life as the beautiful Marquis Armand? Of his time before being turned into a monster? He just couldn’t think of anything specific.

Pleasure? Yes, of course, a lot of it. At the beginning at least, before everything became boring and predictable.

The pleasure of a hunting party, group of ‘friends’ wanting to show off with their new horses and rifles.

The pleasure of a drunken fuck, all panting moans and quick release, no strings attached. The pleasure of hurting his parents by refusing marriage and political charges – oh, the way his father had roared ‘you are no son of mine’ when he had finally behaved like the asshole he had raised him to be!

_Oh, Father, I am more you than I care to be!_

Had he ever been truly happy in his life? He remembered a few instances as a child, before things turned sour. Before Alwen disappeared. But as an adult? He couldn’t recall a single moment of pure joy. The same unadulterated joy that Tim had shown when dancing freely around the fire.

The Beast shivered. _Do not think of Tim just now._

Strangely, he had started to feel hints of - not happiness, mind you - a sort of calm contentedness after some time of being a Beast. _How weird was that?_ Fleeting moments of peace when reading a book by the fireplace, loyal Spartacus at his side, or observing a lovely sunset at the berm, flocks of geese in the sky migrating someplace warmer.

Back then, he had started to feel part of a bigger picture, a creature warily trying to find its place into a Whole. Observing Nature and her living beings, he began to understand that to be happy you had to belong. To something, anything. A herd of cows, a colony of ants, even a grove of trees - they all prospered and grew when they were a whole. Together.

His ludicrous pride had separated Armand from people, as if he was better than them, when the only thing he truly needed was to belong.

And now? Who could he belong to? Would someone ever want to truly belong to him as well?

He shivered.

As he had first pondered on the meaning of his cruel punishment, he had felt raw, vulnerable and his rage had been the only mask he could put on to not crumble in despair. And then Timothée had to come, enter his life and upset this façade. _Contentedness my ass_ , he thought. Desire had starting running through his veins like a thick syrup. His longing to belong stronger than ever.

 _Tim_ , he exhaled. _My Timothée._

Shame and guilt washed over the Beast.

He had used the boy. He had taken anything he would give him, against any better judgment. _So_ _selfish. Always fucking selfish._

Seeing him today, interacting with people his age, free and laughing and being so desirable - yes, even that - the Beast had noticed how much he had taken away from the boy.

His freedom to explore, to live. To just be.

He had taken away his chance to have fun and enjoy life to the fullest.

And that just because he had mistaken Tim’s kind heart, his gentleness, his zest for life, his way of finding the bright side in any situation… for a gladness to be with him.

With a monster.

_How could I be so selfish?_

Wait, no, he had not mistaken anything from Tim - he had assumed. Just assumed. Because that was what he needed. No… what he wanted.

He had been so tired of being lonely that he had jumped on Timothée like an animal in heat.

He had always prided himself for not having forced himself on anyone, ever. Even in his worst days, he had loathed the idea of hurting someone that way and yet…

 _What choice did I leave him?_ _What choice did he have? I constantly chased him, coaxed him, seduced him into wanting more._

He remembered that time in the stables and felt so ashamed of himself. It had seemed so right, so good for both of them, back then. _I have tied the boy to the fucking saddle stand! God. It was wrong. Plain wrong._

He swallowed. _Of course he had looked happy and willing_. _He’s just a young inexperienced man, hungry for life. Of course he would want to experience sex. But I wouldn’t have been his first choice, hell, even the hundredth_ , he winced, _if he had the chance_. _That’s for sure._

The Beast wringed his hands.

And that was not even considering the whole dungeon incident. The memory made him want to puke.

_God, what have I done?_

He looked at Tim, who was now drinking some -apparently bitter, by the grimace on his face - herbal tea brought by a kind, older woman. She was making signs to indicate it would do him good for his stomach and head. She had probably noticed his wobbly walk.

Of course, anyone was better than him at taking care of the boy, because no one was as selfish an asshole as he was.

The Beast felt his heart pound harshly in his chest.

_Tim._

_I’m sorry._

_I promise._

_I’ll never hurt you again._

 

_\- - -_

 

Later, they were invited to stay for the night, the best wagon prepared for them.

The sky was dark, Tim was tired and the Beast preferred to be there, just in case any danger might arise. As they settled in the colorful space, Tim seemed shy all of a sudden.

“You didn’t come dancing, after all. Are you upset with me?”, he whispered nervously as ge bit his lower lip.

“I’m fine, Timothée. Just tired. These past days…”

“Of course”, his eyes went big. “I’m here being all… silly when you are still recovering. I’m sorry”.

“Hey, hey”, he tilted his head. “Don’t worry, Tim. We are good. Come in bed, rest”.

 

~

 

As Tim relaxed and slowly fell asleep - curly head on his shoulder, hand gripping his chest fur - the Beast just knew that sleep would evade him.

He inhaled the boy’s sweet citrusy smell, counted every adorable freckle on his nose, caressed with the pad of his fingers his bony shoulderblades.

 

The Beast knew what he had to do.

He just hoped he could be brave enough.


	30. Vale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beast.  
> Tim.  
> Then Beast and Tim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, guys! :-/
> 
> Title means ‘goodbye’ in Latin
> 
> Aube means ‘dawn’ in French.

 

Bojana found the Beast as the clan was busy dismantling the camp.

The girl followed his gaze, noticed him look at Tim and Troye, who were excitedly chatting while saddling the horse. She turned to face him.

“You wrong”.

He sighed. His emotions were so easy to read.

“These are adults matters, child. Please, don’t-”

“I no child”, she pouted. “I see things”.

“Of course you do”, he told her caressing her head. “I just mean that things get complicated when you grow up”.

She rolled her eyes. “No complications. You love him. He love you”.

“I guess you are right, in a way”, he croaked. “We care for each other. But… it’s not what you think it is. And it’s not how things should be”.

“You do mistake. Big mistake”.

“I am doing the right thing”.

“Stupid”, she screamed running towards her father. “Stupid, stupid”.

He saw her babbling ‘tata’ in his arms - daddy, daddy, she repeated, as Vuk looked at him quizzically.

The Beast smiled at their love and let his mind wander. He imagined a son, or daughter, as lovely and kind as Tim, as stubborn and strong as himself. He shook his head.

_This kind of thoughts will lead you nowhere. Only deeper in despair._

He saw Tim kneel and gift his dagger to Alojz. The boy, all shining eyes and toothy grin, hugged his neck and showed his friends the precious gift.

The Beast felt he needed to make peace with Bojana. He couldn’t imagine leaving her without a word. Not after all they had been through.

When the clan was almost ready to leave, he spotted the girl sitting on the tree stump he had chosen the night before.

“Come with us”, she said shily.

“I cannot-”

“Yes, you can”, she sobbed throwing herself in his arms.

He gently kissed the top of her head. “My life is here”.

“When I grow up, I marry you”, she voiced with determination.

He chuckled. “When you are grown up, I’ll be old and wrinkled like a dried prune”.

She smirked, eyes full of sweet affection - and simpathy - for the Beast. “You love Tim”.

“Yes, I do. Very much”. Saying it out loud, just for once, even if not at the intended recipient, was nice. Very nice.

He took off his signet ring, the one with the embossed rose, and gave it to her.

She beamed, unclasped a necklace she wore (surely a welcome back gift from her father) and threaded it through the cord.

“Will you remember me, your friend?”, he whispered.

“Silly krsnik”. She punched his shoulder. “I love you. Volim te”.

“I love you too, Bojana. It’s been an honour meeting you and your brother”.

She stood to leave.

“You and Tim…”, she bent to whisper to his ears. “You cannot fight destiny”.

 

\- - - - -

 

Timothée was riding alongside the Beast, petting his horse’s neck as they went.

“He is stunning, isn’t he?”, he grinned. “I felt bad at first, accepting this gift but… I love him already”.

The Beast smiled. “Have you thought of a name yet?”

He scrunched up his nose. “Uhm… I was thinking Clair or Aube, since you ride Sombre. What do you think?”

Timothée was thinking of him while naming his horse. _This is lovely_ , the Beast mused. _But heartwrenching._

“Whatever you prefer, Tim. It doesn’t have to be related to my mount”.

The boy tilted his head. “Sombre, because he’s black, like the night. And Clair, or better, Aube, yes Aube, because he’s fair like the beginning of the day. Yes. I like that. Aube it is”.

“As you wish”, he swallowed.

 

~

 

Something was off with the Beast - Timothée was aware of that. He chalked it up to the children leaving. They had left such an impression on them, but mostly on the Beast.

He and Bojana had become so close - it was sweet to watch.

Tim had seen the deep emotion in their final embrace. At one moment, the girl had turned to look at Tim, a tiny smile curling her lips. She had nodded to herself and whispered something to the Beast’s chest, eyes pleading. He had said no, before kissing her forehead.

They were now riding in the deeper, darker parts of the woods, in mutual silence. The risk of being spotted in broad daylight - and the Beast possibly hunted down by terrified villagers - was doing nothing to lighten the tense mood.

Only Spartacus ill-attempted efforts at catching a squirrel – abominable villains to his furry brain - made them laugh after a while.

Tim wondered if, back at the castle, things could go back as they were. But as they were when? Just before the children, there had been the dungeons and he still wasn’t sure he could easily forget that. But before things had gone sour, there had been moments of peace and joy and… something more… between them.

He was scared, but hopeful.

Now that he knew so much more about the Beast’s past, it felt like they could be finally free to truly connect. They could go from there.

 

After a few hours of riding, Tim asked the Beast if they could stop for a bit of rest. He hadn’t drunk so much the night before - his empty stomach being the culprit of his tipsiness, and the herbal tea had helped a lot - but he still felt a bit groggy.

The Beast nodded and told him about a secluded stream not too far from there.

They dismounted the horses and let them graze. In the saddlebags, they found fresh food and wine.

Although convenient, such strong magic always made Tim uncomfortable. There was something wrong in appreciating the luxuries the witch’s power afforded when it was, at the same time, hurting the Beast and his servants.

How could she be so caring as to provide them with food or blankets or whatever they may need and, at the same time, turn living, breathing people into statues? Or into a Beast to be scorned and killed by superstitious people with angry faces and pointy pitchforks? Because that was what would surely happen if they happened to be spotted on the way back.

Tim couldn’t understand.

Feeling very guilty, he sat near the Beast to nibble on some bread and cheese. He was starving.

Soon after, he felt sleepy and rubbed his face to try and stay awake.

“Why don’t you lie down, close your eyes and rest a while?”, said the Beast. “We’ve got time”.

He nodded and huddled under the big blanket they had been sitting on.

The Beast looked at him, heart breaking in a thousand pieces. He tried to commit to mind every detail of his beautiful face.

As soon as he felt Tim was asleep, he went to his horse and opened the leather saddle bags. They were full of clothing items, food and money. The essentials were all there.

_This will do_ , he thought.

He worked the buckles with shaky hands, transferred the bags on Aube and made sure they were tied on snugly enough.

Tim’s horse was skittish around him, big brown eyes looking for an escape. He tried to soothe him and turned to watch the sleeping form of Tim. He wished he could embrace him, kiss him at least once more.

On a sudden inspiration, he decided to open the saddle bags again. Sure enough the contents had changed now that they were on Aube. Different clothes, more money, more blankets ( _he’s always cold_ ), a complete travel set for sketching and painting, the drawing pad…

The Beast suppressed an anguished cry and tied the bags shut.

He felt a movement behind his back and sure enough Tim was coming towards him, fists rubbing his eyes like a child.

“Sorry, I fell asleep”.

The Beast lunged and hugged him tight to his chest. He felt Timothée melt in his embrace and hug him back.

He took the boy’s face between his palms and tilted it so they were eye to eye. He kissed him on the cheek and forced himself to not drag his nose along the side of Tim’s neck. This was going to be hard.

_Get a grip, Beast. Be a fucking man about it._

“What is going on, Be- I mean, Armie?”

“It’s time to go, we don’t want to spend the day riding, right?”

Tim was unsure, but nodded nonetheless. They were exposed during the day - better go back. He thought about asking why the saddle bags were on Aube, but refrained to do so. After all Sombre had been working hard carrying him and the kids and the supplies. It was only fair he rested a bit.

They arrived at the crossroad outside the village of F. and the Beast stilled his horse. He opened his mouth to speak and closed it again, a glum expression on his face.

_There’s definitely something wrong_ , Tim thought as he turned his horse so they would be lined up face to face, their mounts looking in opposite directions.  
“What is it? You can tell me, you know?”, he asked softly.

“It’s time”, the Beast exhaled. “What you wished for all winter is now possible”.

“Uh?”  
“You can go, now. Just go”.

The boy looked at him, uncomprehending.

“If you take the side road, it will take you to your village. I bet you wish to visit with Abbé Jacques. Spend some days with him. After that, you can take the main one, on the left, and rejoin your new friends, if you so wish. The clan will be traveling through the woods, they feel safer like this. You can meet them later at C. They said they’d be there in a week”, the Beast blurted as quick as he could.

“Or you could do something entirely different, now that you know where you are and don’t risk losing yourself in the forest. You are free to do as you please. And just so you know, the bags are full of everything you may need and more. Magic still links them to me so, whatever you may need I’m sure you will find it there. So, yes, goodbye”.

The Beast exhaled the last words trying not to choke. He gripped the bridles to turn his horse, when he felt Tim’s hand on his arm.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Of course not”, he answered quickly. “I know why you might think that. But I wouldn’t hurt you like this. I promise. I wouldn’t tell you such things and then take them away from you”.

“That’s not what I was thinking”, Tim breathed. “I don’t understand”.

“It’s not that hard, Tim”, he retorted drily. “You wished to leave my palace and go away. Now you can. The Duc is dead, you are safe. I’m setting you free. You can go. So… go”.

He made a gesture with his hand.

_Live, Timothée. Have fun. Fall in love. Grow old._

“I don’t want to go”, the boy said. “I’m not going”.  
“Yes, you are”.

“No, I-”

“That’s not something you can decide yourself”.

“Are you serious? And that would be ‘you’ letting ‘me’ free to do what I want with my life?”

“Don’t be cocky”, he growled softly. Christ, why wasn’t Tim jumping of happiness?

“Tim... I’m serious. It’s time for you to go”.

“It’s because of Troye, right?”, he whispered. “I told you nothing happened between us. Yes, maybe I was glad for his attentions and I didn’t stop to think that-”

“This has nothing to do with Troye. Of course you would like his attentions. It’s perfectly natural”.

Tim curled his fist under his chin.

“You truly don’t mind?” He looked confused and a little sad.

_This cannot be possible_ , thought the Beast, as he shrugged, acting unaffected.

_Of course I mind, Tim. When his hand lingered on your lower back as you hugged goodbye, I thought how easily I could break his bony wrists just by pressing on them with a couple of fingers. I then felt shame for having even thought of hurting him. I imagined your gaze full of horror at my outburst…_

“You are young, Timothée. You have a whole life ahead of you. Go”. _And be happy for both of us._

“I don’t want to go”. His face was hashen, having understood what was going on.

“You are serious. You truly are”, Tim hissed. “I don’t understand you. I thought we were-”.

_That was before. Before I ruined everything over and over again. Before I knew I was hurting you even when I thought the opposite. Before I understood that loving you meant letting you go._

_“_ You truly don’t care for me?”, Tim croaked.

“I care about you, Tim. You have been kind to me. That’s why I provided you with the saddle bags. You won’t need anything in life-”

“I don’t want your money. I don’t fucking care”, Tim shouted. “And stop talking like we are mere aquaintances”, he blurted as he bit his lips to stop the tears that clinged to his eyelashes from falling.

“Be well, Tim. You are free now”.

“I don’t want to go”, he repeated. “I care about-”

“Stop. Just fucking stop”.

The Beast shivered. If Tim said that he cared for him… He couldn’t listen to that. He was not strong enough.

_There’s no way out. I have to hurt him_.

“You are being childish, Tim”. He turned his gaze as cold as he could.

“You are a man. Young, yes, but you are no child. What were you thinking this thing between us was?”

The boy looked up, open mouthed.

“We had a nice winter you and I. Now it’s time to move on. You are beautiful. But it’s not like you are the only pretty face around here”.

The Beast saw him shiver, splotches of red blooming on his cheeks.

“I’ve never been one to settle, told you so from the start. What were you thinking?”. He laughed drily. “Me and you riding together towards the sunset? Don’t be silly. You kept me warm this winter. That’s all”.

Tim looked crestfallen.

“This is bullshit”, he said, anger in his voice. “Why are you behaving like-?”

The Beast pursed his lips. “If I thought you would get so clingy, I would have let you go much sooner”.

“Don’t make me go”, Tim whimpered.

This was torture - it had been dragging on for way too long. The Beast felt bitter bile filling his mouth.

“I’m done with you, Tim. I don’t want you in my life and bed anymore”.

Extending his claws, he roared, slapping hard Aube on his rear.

Tim’s horse reared up and started to run - eyes wild, foam at the mouth - towards the village.

The last thing the Beast saw was Tim’s turned head, tears flowing from his sad celadon eyes.

He waited until his slim figure was no longer visible on the horizon before turning towards home.

 

As soon as they entered the castle, Spartacus went to Tim’s room looking for the boy. Seeing him sniff around and whimper for his lost friend almost broke the Beast’s heart.

It seemed there was no end to the many different layers of devastating pain his heart was going through. He felt defeated and empty.

The Beast knew there was going to be agony - he had chosen it and embraced it. But still… Even something as simple as breathing was beyond difficult.

_You have to be strong_. _Tim’s wellbeing is your responsability now. As long as you are alive, the magic will be with him. You. Have. To. Be. Strong._

He took in the disheveled room. They had left in such a hurry…

Everything there reminded him of Tim - from the chewed tips of his quills to the citrusy smell permeating the place.

He sat on the bed, caressed his pillow.

With a howl he grabbed it, hugged it, breathing in the fragrance that was uniquely Timothée.

He wondered if he could die by heartbreak alone and remembered that dying was not an option. Aside from loyal Spartacus, he had now Tim to take care of. He couldn’t leave Timothée without the protection that the magic afforded.

He had ruined the boy’s life, the least he could do was to provide for him. From afar.

 

The witch’s punishment had now become infinitely crueller, the Beast mused.

Having known Timothée and lost him was unbearable. But knowing he had done the right thing… was a consolation of sorts.

He cried bitter tears until he fell asleep in Tim’s bed. He doubted he would live anywhere else from now on.


	31. Ianuae clauditur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timothée and the aftermath of his conversation with Beast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are now starting the mad rush towards the end of my first ever fan fiction.   
> Thank you all for reading, kudoing and commenting. I started writing prompted by a dream – never occurred to me that someone would be interested in my drabbles. Again, thank you.  
> I know that the burn is sloow and we are now in full angst but, don’t panic, we are moving - albeit slowly - towards the happiest of endings. I swear! 
> 
> Title means ‘doors are closing’ in Latin
> 
> PS “Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it” was said by Helen Keller.

 

When the horse finally stopped his frenzied run, Tim jumped down and fell on his knees.

Bitterness filled his throat, tears stinging his eyes like angry bees.

He threw up.

He didn’t know if he felt more incredulous, angry, disappointed or just plain sad. He cried and shouted to no one in particular until he was hoarse.

The Beast had done it again - manhandling him into doing as he pleased, as if his feelings meant nothing.

Tim was furious. But mostly hurt.

He had tried to explain the Beast that he cared for him and he didn’t even listen. _Well, he did listen, Tim. He just doesn’t feel the same_ , he thought ruefully.

He shivered. The Beast had called him clingy and childish.

Those words... they stung, hard. They reminded him so much of his father.

Of how he had always disliked any of his interests, judging them stupid or pointless or a waste of money.

How he found him constantly lacking - not strong enough, not cunning enough, not manly enough.

How, once, he had hit the back of his head, hard, just because he’d been daydreaming and drawing with his fingers in the flour. Tim was 6 at the time.

How he had constantly complained about his time spent at the priory ‘ _wasting hours in school_ _when a bit of reading and math is all that’s needed to run a bakery’._

How he had pushed him to take the full burden of work - calling him lazy and entitled for keeping a book on himself at all time (borrowed from Abbé Jacques’ library, of course, no money to spend on such frivolities) - only to scold him harshly when he had started to notice things that were improvable.

“How dare you!”, he had said after he had proposed some changes, slapping his face more than once.

How he used the belt on him, any time he was angry and drunk, at times leaving scars.

Timothée was sick and tired of being bossed around. Of being considered unfit to choose for himself. Of feeling weak.

He had thought things were different with the Beast. Even with all the issues they had.

He was obviously wrong.

He needed a friend, someone he could talk to, who could advise him on what to do.

He knew just where to find him.

 

~

 

“Abbé Jacques is not here”, told him a nervous-looking priest when he arrived at the priory. The man looked around, as if afraid someone would come and scold him for talking to Timothée.

“I can wait for him. Please, let me inside. My horse needs to rest as well”.

He opened the main door, a pained expression on his face.

“When is Abbé Jacques supposed to be back?”, Tim asked, leaving the horse to the care of the priest.

He just exhaled a “You wait here” as he quickly walked towards the stables.

“Timothée. It’s really you! I thought you would be arrived to the New World by now. Your father said-”. He felt the hug before seeing the man behind it.

“Pierre”.   
“It’s Brother Anthony, now. I took the vows last Christmas”.

“It’s nice seeing you again”. Tim remembered the fellow student from school.

“What brings you here?”

“I came to visit Abbé Jacques”.

At that, he saw him pale. “You don’t know? Tim, I’m sorry. I knew you two were close”.

“What happened?”, he croaked, fear gripping his insides.

“Abbé Jacques is... He’s dead, Tim”.

“What? How? When?” Tim swallowed. “Had he fallen sick?”

Pierre looked around the big courtyard and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Follow me, quick”.

They got to Abbé Jacques’ cell. Tim was already deeply shaken by Pierre’s words, but gasped in seeing the dishevelled room.

The young man noticed his pained expression. “We are cleaning it up. In a couple days this room will be occupied by someone new.

“What happened?” Tim was almost afraid to ask.  
“He was assaulted on the outskirts of the village and severely beaten. He was strong, you know, found in himself the willpower to come back here. He lost an eye but he fought hard to recover. He died 10 days after the attack”.   
“When was that?”  
“A couple weeks ago”.  
“Who could have done something so horrible?”  
“We don’t know. He had money on himself, they left it there. It looked like a retaliation of some sorts”.  
Tim whimpered, took his head in his hands.

“I’ll call Father Abel. He was the one who cared for him in his final days. I’m so sorry, Tim”, he sighed. “We are all in shock”.

  
Alone in the room he had visited so many times in the past, Tim looked around.

He remembered the times Abbé Jacques had rubbed salve on his back after a beating from his father. The hours he spent teaching him how to read (he had a late start at school, because of his father’s unwillingness to let him go).  
He walked to the mantle where the monk used to keep a small glass with whatever kind of flowers he could find, according to season, under an image of Our Lady of Mercy. _He was such a gentle soul_ , Tim thought.  
His eyes fell on a tiny scrap of paper on the floor. He picked it up and turned it - it was a prayer card of Saint Francis.

“He knew the Beauty of Creation. And he described it magnificently”, the monk would tell him. “Here, read the Canticle of the Creatures”.  
Tim smiled and pocketed the worn piace of paper, happy to save something so dear to his friend, just as Father Abel entered the room.   
“Timothée! You are alive”. He choked. “Abbé Jacques was so worried about you”.  
“Please, tell me… What happened?”  
The old man lowered his voice. “I don’t know if I should talk about this. These walls have ears… But... He told me there were noblemen involved in horrible sins. He said they’ve been looking for young people…”.

He wringed his hands.

“I cannot... I cannot say more. I’m too scared. He left a letter for you. He hoped you would come. His mind was still sharp, you know, till the end. He asked for quill and paper and wrote you this. Made me close it with seal and wax so that no one could pry. I’m relieved I can give it to you”.  
“Where is he now?”  
“Come”.  
Tim walked behind the priest to the small internal cemetery and spotted the new stone that marked Abbé Jacques’ final resting place.   
He kneeled on the grass and touched the carved stone, warm from the sun.  
Swallowing his tears, he broke the seal and started to read.

  
_Mon cher Timothée,  
if you are reading this letter, it means that I’ve died. _

_I tried my best to heal, but I didn’t succeed. Or maybe God needed me somewhere else._

_It is such a great Mistery to unravel and I have to tell you that I’m quite curious to finally find out. By now I will know._

_Don’t be sad for me. Now the worst is behind. Now, there’s only Love._

_Please, remember this: it doesn’t matter how many horrible things happen in life (those are us mere humans not remembering how to live with Spirit), God is Love and His Love is everywhere._

_I hope you are good._

_I hope you are happy and free from fear and doubt.  
Seeing you has been wonderful. I feared the worst for you and discovering you were alive and healthy, although not free, as I deeply wished, was a joy._

_I love you so much, Timothée._

_I know I'm probably not supposed to say this but, to me, you are the son I never had. A part of me longed for this kind of love and God, in His gentleness, somehow granted me my wish._

_I hope you felt my deep affection for you. I hope it gave you comfort. Know that I’m still with you - my love is and will always be._

_I wished I could have done more for you. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to protect you from harm as I wished. I tried to speak with your father, but he wouldn’t listen._

_Oh, how I longed to see you grow up, develop your talents, discover yourself and choose your life. Alas, it is not meant to be._

_You are so smart, Timothée. Remember this. You are so talented and kind and brave. Oh, so brave. I know you will do great things._

_Do you know how I know for sure? That Beast… Such a terrifying creature! He cares for you so much. He would die for you, in a heartbeat._

_How you succeded in taming him, it’s a miracle I won’t ever understand. But it was you. Only you._

_I don’t know what God’s plans are for you both. Why he intended for you two to meet, and in such a way. But I’m sure the reason is good. I’m sure that something beautiful awaits both of you._

_I hope you are not sad, Timothée. I am fine. Please don’t cry for me._

_I am sure in the afterlife I am now reunited with my beloved. Your friend can tell you my story, now._

_It seemed wrong to let you know before. As a father figure of sorts I was proud enough to want to be perfect in your eyes. How silly of me! I know your kind heart wouldn’t have judged me at all._

_Be well, Timothée._

_Remember that you are loved._

_Remember that although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it._

_I have complete trust in you. Go, shine shine shine._

_Abbé Jacques_

Tim sobbed, clutching the letter to his chest. He let his head rest on the hard tombstone.

He had always considered Abbé Jacques as his friend, probably because the word ‘father’ to him meant only pain. He now knew that their relationship had been so much more.

Today he had lost his true father, the man who had helped him grow up and had been there in any time of need. That they were not blood related was utterly inconsequential.

There was nothing that tied him to his village anymore. As he prepared to leave forever, Tim decided he had to cut the remaining dead branch once and for all.

 

~

 

The key was still under the ranunculus pot.

In the past, father had lost it too many times on his drunken crawls, and Timothée was tasked to trace back his meanderings in order to find it. A fixed location was decided - the man had not bothered to change it.

He found him snoring on a chair, drool pooling on his chin. He looked at him and felt nothing but disgust.

Tim wished he was as kind as Abbé Jacques thought him to be - that way he may have felt pity for the sorry excuse of a man that was his father. But he wasn’t.

He cleared his throat and saw his father’s eyes widen in surprise tinged with terror.

“Timo? Is that really you?”

“It is I, father. Surprised to see me?”

“I thought you were…

“Dead, maybe?”, he said drily.

“Are you a ghost?” The man rubbed his face, breath heavy with alcohol.

“No, I’m not. But only because someone took great care to keep me safe”.

He sighed. The Beast had hurt his feelings that very morning, but he was well aware of how much he was indebted to him. He was alive and safe _and free_ \- his brain provided - because he had done everything in his power to protect him and rid the world of the scum that threatened to kill him. Or worst.

His father sneered. “Suppose that ‘someone’ found you useful after all. I’m glad”.

He bristled at the implied obscenity. “Do you have any idea of what would have happened to me? Do you even care?”

The older Chalamet shrugged his shoulders and braced himself on the chairs’ armrests to stand up. He wobbled to the table, where he grabbed the wine flask and took a swig.

“I had debts, Timo. Beggars can’t be choosers. You are fine, aren’t you, though? I heard the gossips but it’s just tales-”.

“No, they are not. Young people have been dying. Children!”, he shouted.

“So? Aren’t we all just living a miserable existence? We all must die of something”.

“Do you even hear yourself? You disgust me”.

“Well, of course you do. You’ve always been so much more than I am, right?”, he spat. “So perfect, so like your mother. Beloved daughter of his father, beauty queen of this village, so charitable, so superior to everyone”.

“Why did you even marry her?”, he asked angrily.

“Because of you, obviously! You just had to come and ruin my life”.

“I had plans, you know. Plans!”, he shouted.

“I was wooing this rich widow, two towns over. I would lead a very comfortable life. Not work a day more. I was quite handsome back then. But of course, I came here, in passing and saw Adele. She was beautiful and oh so innocent. I wanted her, the widow was ugly as Hell. I knew I could seduce her. And I did. But she got pregnant, the cunt”.

Tim’s hands curled into fists.

“I prepared to flee but your grandfather, he had always despised me, found out and threatened to kill me for dishonoring her. Fucking Italians! He made me marry her. She was so happy, she thought I loved her” he cackled.

“She ruined my life. You ruined my life. Her father pushed me to work at the bakery and here we are. I could have been something. I could have had servants! And now I’m breaking my back-”

“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up!”, Tim growled. “Owning a bakery means breaking your back? You had a loving wife, a house, a honorable trade. You had everything. Who the fuck do you think you are?”.

“Don’t you dare-”

“Or what, father? I’ve grown up during these months. I’m not the scrawny kid you knew. I’m sure you remember my friend, how unusual he is”.

He saw him pale with terror.

“He trained me, you know. Try and touch me and I’ll kill you”.

“I’m still your father, you owe me obed-”

“I owe you nothing! You are not my father. Not anymore. My true father, the one that cared for me, died a couple weeks ago”.

“That stupid priest had it coming. Always poking his nose where it did not belong". 

Tim punched him and pressed his hands tight around his neck. Seeing him gasp for air was oddly satisfying.

Still... He remembered Abbé Jacques’ words and reluctantly let his father go.

“I knew you couldn’t do it. You are just too weak”, he spluttered, grabbing his sore throat.

“No, I’m not. But I won’t go to jail for you. You don’t deserve it”, he snorted. “Forget you ever knew me. From now on, I’m an orphan”.

Tim left the home he had known all his life, thinking sadly how much more of a home the Beast’s castle had been.

He shook his head. _Better not dwell on the past._

He was on his own now.

Time to build a new life.

 

 

As he rode into the night, Timothéee failed to notice the pair of cold eyes that were watching him leave.


	32. Ianua aperitur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim wonders what to do with his life. A stranger’s suggestion spurs him into action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, I know. But I needed the plot to take speed ;-)  
> Barely edited, sorry, had to post in order to move on.
> 
> Title means ‘a door is opening’ in Latin

 

Timothée spent a few days holed up in his room.

He had found a nice inn - good enough to not have his throat slit by robbers in the middle of the night, simple enough as not to spend too much on accomodation.

He intended to use as little of the Beast’s funds as possible. And to find a way to give him back whatever amount of money he would expend. He wasn’t willing to feel more indebted than he already felt.

Tim was sad and confused. He needed a safe place to process everything that had happened to him, to decide what to do from now on. The rustic inn was perfectly adequate.

Food was brought up to his room, his horse was taken care of - he could focus on himself.

Having the possibility to decide what to do with his life was a luxury he didn’t take for granted. Being born a nobleman would have meant expectations, arranged marriages, political intrigues. Being a bourgeois meant a trade to take care of, to protect from competitors. And yes, again, it meant the need to marry well, in this case to forge new commercial alliances. But being born a poor peasant tilling the fields for his owner, or a sick or cripple man forced to beg for alms… those were the real tragedies.

He had no one caring for him, but he was young, healthy and had money on himself.

He was a nobody.

He was free.

 

~

 

At first he cried. A lot.

On the worst days, he thought of going back, to look for the Beast’s castle. He had recognized the area where they split up, he was sure he could find the main road.

But even if he, somehow, could cross the magical fog barrier that had kept him prisoner inside the property... What for? The Beast had been clear. He didn’t want him anymore.

That hurt.

_At least keep your fucking dignity, Tim_ , he scolded himself. _Do not think of going back!_

Still… He had thought there was ‘something’ between them. Even Abbé Jacques seemed to believe that.

Thinking about his friend always sunk him into utter despair. The dear monk had died by the same hands that had threatened Tim’s life and, later, Alojz and Bojana’s.

He felt responsible.

If Abbé Jacques hadn’t come to visit him at the Beast’s castle, discovering what had been going on with those depraved noblemen… maybe he’d still be alive.

He knew that his friend would have told him that that was nonsense, that he was guilty of nothing.

The Beast as well would have told him so, would have probably roared his rage against those assholes, lamenting that he had killed them too late to save the monk.

His thoughts went again to the Beast, to their fights and caresses and memories. To the possibilities that had become impossibilities.

He sighed.

Abbé Jacques’ letter was his only source of comfort. His putative father believed in him. Tim wouldn’t disappoint him.

  
~

  
One morning he woke up feeling restless.

He was in a town that he hadn’t visited before in his life - _move on, Tim_ \- and being cooped up seemed a pity.

After breakfast he decided for a stroll, taking charcoal and paper with him.

He sat on a stone bench in the main square, sketching - people coming and going from the market, the ugly fountain with delusions of grandeur, the skinny cat sunbathing on a windowsill.

He gifted a quick portrait to an elderly lady who blushed before hugging him to her chest.

It felt good.

He was drawing the church façade, when he was addressed by a stern looking nun.

“You are not from here, are you?”

“No. I’m not”, Tim smiled. “Just travelling through the area”.

“You are good”, she said, pointing to the rose window he had been sketching. “But this is not a town for artistic pursuits, I’m afraid”.

“It’s fine. I’m just a baker by trade, I only wish to draw-”

“You have to go two towns over and visit signor Anchise Di Girolamo”, she interrupted him. “He has a workshop in F. and has worked for Prince Michael’s court. If he thinks you are good, he will accept you in his school. And you can go from there”.

Tim nodded, flabbergasted, as the nun left.

 

 

Later that day, he pondered on the woman’s suggestion.

He had no clear path before him, but discovering if he was truly talented - as the Beast, and Abbé Jacques before him, had thought - might be the right thing to do.

“I can always go back to being a baker”, he told himself. “Maybe open a shop of my own”.

He settled the inn’s bill and saddled his horse.

He finally knew where to go.


	33. De Amicitia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it starts - Timothée’s life far from the Beast.  
> Far from the village that was once home.  
> Far from his past.  
> What will happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We now have a chapter count!!! Wow, it seems incredible to see the end approaching. I’m a bit emotional right now.  
> Thanks again for your comments, please keep’em coming - they truly mean the world to me.
> 
> Signor Di Girolamo and his daughter are loosely based on painter Jacopo Robusti, ‘il Tintoretto’ and his daughter Marietta Robusti aka ‘la Tintoretta’. Being a woman, she worked in her father's studio as his very talented assistant, but her achievements were buried under her father’s name. Here, I wanted to change that and do her justice.  
> As I was taught when I studied at the Prado Museum in Spain, when a painting is anonymous there’s a strong possibility it was painted by a woman.
> 
> Title means ‘on friendship’ in Latin.

 

_Two months later_

 

“Marzia, come!”

“You are going to get me in trouble, Timo”, she giggled.

“Ssshh. No, I’m not. Just follow me and be quiet”.

She covered her mouth with her hand, shaking her head in disbelief, but let herself be dragged behind heavy blue curtains by the smiling boy.

“Promise me you won’t sneeze or something. Nobody has to notice we are hiding here!”

“Sure”, Marzia nodded seriously. “I can be quiet”. _If you kissed me already_ , she thought, _behind this very dark velvet… I could be oh so quiet…_

Tim looked at her conspiratorially. “And now we wait!”

 

\- - - - -

 

When Timothée had first arrived in F., he had been worried about how he would be received.

He shouldn’t have.

Signor Di Girolamo’s home was like a busy seaport, bustling with people coming and going: budding artists in search of validation, merchants offering goods, patrons ordering paintings for various occasions.

His atelier de peinture was renowned for the quality and speed with which it produced fine artworks - the portraits and religious paintings the Maestro did himself were obviously the most appreciated and fetched quite a bit of money.

The man himself was quite peculiar. Old and wizened, he dressed flamboyantly and claimed a distant relation to late Venetian painter Jacopo Robusti, better known as Tintoretto. When someone argued that Di Girolamo was a Southern Italian surname, he’d just shrug and affirm it was on his mother’s side.

Despite his opinionated statements and snippy manners, Timothée found him a good man, a true lover of art and beauty, willing to open his home to artists coming from all over the country.

If you had talent, it wouldn’t go unappreciated.

Eight weeks earlier, as soon as he had entered the three storey brick house, Tim was ushered to show his sketchbook to the Maestro.

As the old man flipped through the pages, the boy took in the surroundings - plaster copies of ancient Greek statues dotted the big workshop vibrant with activity.

When he heard a startled gasp, Tim noticed that the painter had happened upon sketches of the Beast.

Timothée paled, trying to come up with some excuse, but Di Girolamo started grinning and nodding.

“Bravo, bravo. Fantasia, ah. Fantasy. Creativity”, he gesticulated. “Your drawings are perfect. I’m working on a scene from Dante’s Divine Comedy. Inferno, yes? Hell! Scary demon, yes? Come, come. Now you eat, then you start working”.

And that was that.

Timothée had been relieved the Maestro had thought nothing of his drawings, believing they were figments of a wild imagination - _of course, how could someone believe a creature like this exists not so far from here?_ \- but still was saddened to discover that the Beast, to people, would only amount to that. A monster.

 _He is not_ , he whished he could explain. _He is so much more than his frightful appearance._ _He is strong and brave and-_

Tim sighed. He should just stop thinking about his past and focus on his future.

He followed the old man to the easel.

 

He had met Marzia later that week, when she and her mother returned from visiting some relatives in the countryside.

“Here, Timo, come. Meet Marzia. La luce dei miei occhi. Ma fille adorée”.

The girl had blushed and curtseyed before following her mother to the sitting room.

The boy later discovered that Anchise had three grown-up sons, way older than Marzia.

The firstborn had left for the New World after an altercation with his father, the maid revealed, and occasionally wrote to his mother to let her know he was still alive.

“Stubborn as Anchise”, she would say, dabbing at her eyes. Di Girolamo was heartbroken as well, although he didn’t wish to admit it, and had had high hopes for his younger sons.

The second born, though, had chosen to become a priest, much to the painter’s chagrin, and the youngest... well... he was an entitled brat who only wasted money on booze and whores.

Di Girolamo seemed condemned to have no heir following in his artistic steps when, being almost sixty, Marzia was born.  
“Such a blessing. My miracle in old age. I, Anchise, as Abraham”, he would boast. “My only consolation”.  
Marzia was indeed a kindhearted girl and a very talented painter herself.

“Only women and children’s portraits or still lives, of course. Nothing of battles and nudes”, the old man would point out. “Only what’s proper for a young lady. Letting her paint is already such a controversial matter”.

Marzia would roll her eyes at her father’s words.  
“Mind you, Timo”, a fellow student had told him, “Di Girolamo will kill you if you lay a finger on his precious daughter. Don’t be fooled by her being such a free spirit”.

Timothée looked at her.

Did he desire the painter’s daughter? She was very pretty - long chestnut hair gathered in a chignon, bright eyes and a cheery laugh. He imagined holding her in his arms, kissing her. _Everything about her would be soft_ , he thought, _her cheeks, her lips, her arms..._

The idea seemed lovely, he pondered, and yet it stirred nothing in him.

The other artists and students all seemed besotted with her, whether because of her obvious charm or - Tim feared - because they were trying to find a permanent place in the famous painter’s household.

Tim smiled sadly to himself.

Love matters didn’t mean anything to him. _Better focus on work._  
  
He and Marzia became good friends over the weeks. Probably because the girl - who was quite smart, he discovered - understood he was no fortune hunter or an idiot trying to seduce her.

They were quite similar - a little shy, passionate about art and reading, just wanting to find a way to be themselves and be happy.  
She had confided in him her dream of becoming a true painter, not someone who did art as a pastime - as women were used to - or just because she was Di Girolamo’s daughter.

Her passion and commitment made an impact on Timothée.

He hadn’t known back then that for women a career in the arts was almost impossible.

For a start, a girl who hadn’t been born in an artistic family wouldn’t have had the possibility for training. It was simply not done. And, even if you were as lucky as Marzia was, many subjects of study, and lines of work, were not allowed.

Tim knew what it meant to have your dreams crushed from a young age. To be considered weird for what you loved to do.

He decided there and then that he would help Marzia achieve her dream. He just had to find out how.

  
\- - - - -

 

The possibility presented itself in the form of an irate Count de S.

They had listened to his arrival, muttering angrily about the delayed delivery of his Saint Sébastien.  
Boy and girl had run to Di Girolamo’s private office, assuming the painter would bring there such an important, pissed client.

Hidden behind the velvet curtains, they heard how the nobleman had already payed for a Martyre de Saint Sébastien that he should have received a month prior. Di Girolamo knew nothing of the matter.  
“That’s Claudio’s doing”, Marzia hissed. “No doubts about that. My brother has no shame. Now he steals money from our clients, promising artworks he won’t deliver. Without a care for our father!”  
“Sshh”, he took her hand. “We’ll find a way to help him”.

A very contrite Anchise bowed to the nobleman, guaranteeing a swift delivery of the painting.  
“I’ve got an idea. Stay here, don’t move”.

Tim entered the room, keeping Marzia hidden by the curtains.  
“Maestro…”.  
“Are you spying on me, now? Witnessing my shame?”, the painter whimpered.

“No, Maestro. I just wish to help”, he said, a plan coming to mind. “I heard about the matter and I wish to paint the Saint Sébastien for you. It would be a great honour for me, such a commission. And you’re too busy with the Last Supper altarpiece for Prince Michael. You can’t possibly do this as well”.  
Di Girolamo seemed deep in thought.

“The Count expects nothing but excellence, Timothée. Are you sure-?”.

He nodded.

“Fine, then. My son put me in a tight spot, I’ll need all the help I can get”.

 

Later, Timothée told Marzia about his plan.

It would be her the one to paint the Saint. And when her father saw what she had accomplished... he’d surely help her career.

No more fruit baskets or fluffy kittens for Marzia. Just art, true Art.

“I’ve got some ideas already”, the girl, shy at first, said. “You see, I met the Count’s mother last year, before she passed”, she explained. “I could add her at the feet of the Saint. Kneeling in deep prayer. I bet he’ll love the detail - they were very close”.

“That’s quite clever!”, Tim exclaimed.

She grinned and hugged him.

“But”, she blushed all of a sudden, shoulders slumping “there’s a problem. You know that we women cannot do life drawing. I copied from some etchings of Roman statues and may have hidden behind a curtain to peek when I shouldn’t have-”, her cheeks got crimson.  
“Still… I don’t know much about the anatomy of the male body. Saint Sébastien is tied to a tree covered only by a loincloth and I cannot ask for a model. Father would never allow it, he would discover our plan and-“  
“I will model for you”, Tim said. “Nobody has to know”.

“I will tell your father’s butler that I need to paint alone and in secret”, he scratched his chin. “I will tell him… Yes… I will say that people cannot discover your brother stealing from the Count. Too many people frequent this home and if word comes out… We cannot let people gossip about it and ruin Di Girolamo’s reputation. Also, nobody, especially the Count, has to discover that an unknown painter is the one working on his Sébastien. At least for now”.  
He took Marzia’s hands in his and grinned.

“I got this. Don’t worry. We can do it”.

  
Unexpected help came from Fiorenzo himself. Made privy to the matter at hand, Anchise’s personal butler was the one to suggest Timothée to keep the secret and to only confide in Marzia if he needed any help regarding the Saint Sébastien.

She could bring him painting goods or help with the rendition of the sky or any accompanying figure.

“She’s very talented”, he repeated. “You just tell me when you need her and I’ll be the one to chaperone her. Cannot leave you both alone, you understand”.

Timothée nodded all serious, asking him to be on the lookout for any curious servant and especially for Marzia’s mother - _wouldn’t want to sadden the old woman with the news of her son’s horrible behaviour_.

With Fiorenzo as unaware accomplice, they quickly set to work.

Marzia feigned a headache or two, to be left alone in her room, only to pad to the attic where the easel was set.

Timothée occasionally left the house on a need for a walk, “to get inspiration” - he would whisper to Fiorenzo - only to climb the tree nearest the house to go and pose half-naked for Marzia.

She stealthily brought food and water to the ‘artist in hiding’ - under the butler’s supervision - only to check on the progress on the floral cornucopia Tim was painting for her (a commission she couldn’t postpone).

He prepared the colors for her, brought in and arranged the arrows just so… so that she could work undisturbed during the times when she could escape her domestic obligations. He remembered to show up regularly at the official workshop and work on whatever project was going on, just to be safe.

 

They thought they had been very, very clever. That nobody had discovered what was going on.

So when someone grabbed Tim by the neck and pressed him against a wall hissing a “What do you think you are doing?” in his ear, Tim paled.

“Nicholas, what-”

“You hurt her and I’ll kill you!”, the blond boy growled against Timothée. “Am I clear?”


End file.
